He Was Bruised for our Transgressions
by pkSOA
Summary: Becca Williamson's life takes an unexpected turn when she arrives back in her hometown of Charming, only to have Jax Teller come to her rescue.
1. Prologue

_The first time she ever became aware of him. It was because of a girly colored bicycle. It was a purple and pink-more like a lavender and cotton candy color. A gift for her tenth birthday. Courtesy of her father's hours spent in the garage, restoring such a classic. Outfitted with all the bells and whistles a little girl's bike could have. A reward for learning to ride without training wheels. Of course, her brother Aaron had been a tremendous help. Her mother told her to be careful, riding up and down the hill by herself. But Rebecca, being the feisty ten-year-old redhead that she was had told her mother she would be fine._

_It was that pride that had told her to swallow the fear as she rode to the top of that hill. She could do it. So she took a deep breath and begin to pedal, quickly losing control and having the bicycle escalate downhill, flipping and sending her rolling across the asphalt. Her eyes were closed, less afraid for the damage to herself and more so for the damage to her bicycle. Her brother Mark told her their father had worked extensively on her gift and she would be devastated if it had been ruined in a day. She sighed, feeling a sharp pain in her side and noticed that the sunlight streaming across her face had been obstructed. Fluttering her eyelids open she looked up into the sharp blue eyes of Jackson Teller. She knew who he was. Everyone did. She was ten. Not stupid._

"_Kid you alright," he asked, leaning down to help her up. He looked her over. Noticing her bleeding knees and the cut fabric of her shirt, "You're that preacher's kid. Rebecca."_

"_It's Becca. I know who you are. You're Jax Teller."_

"_I guess that's unavoidable in this town," he smirked at her, tugging her up, "I'll get my mom to give you a band aid or something."_

"_Thanks. And I'm sorry about your dad."_

_His step faltered, looking down at the little girl currently clinging to his t-shirt, "Thanks Becca."_

_Over the years, forever remembering the grieving teenage boy who carried her to his mother's house so she could patch up her needs, she always felt the need to be at least courteous. And so they begin to exchange polite pleasantries. Good days. Waves. Polite smiles. It wasn't until middle school that those polite pleasantries had the opportunity to blossom into another full fledged conversation. She was twelve, walking away from an ice cream truck on a hot summer's day. Some neighborhood girls were taunting her. It wasn't easy being a preacher's kid. And if that wasn't enough, middle school wasn't the best time of her life. The braces, the freckles, the long fiery copper red hair, and the baby weight she had yet to loose were not her friends. One girl-one of those girls who for some reason was born beautiful and would die beautiful but still maintained an ugly inside- had been brazen enough to pull her hair, calling her St. Mary, called her fat, and chucked her ice cream onto the ground._

_He had left his place on his bike and approached the group, telling the brunette hair puller to back off. The girls scampered off, aware of who and what he was. He had to give it to the kid, she wasn't crying. Even though he could tell she wanted to. So he bought her another ice cream._

"_Don't worry about it kid. You'll grow into your looks," he told her, unsure of his words himself. She didn't seem to believe him either if her eye roll was any indication. But he continued, "I'm serious. Girls like that may be pretty but really they're ugly. And when they get older. Only good for one thing. You'll be more likeable because you'll know what it means to be pretty on both inside and out."_

"_Thanks," she said shyly, "for that. And the ice cream."_

"_No worries," he told her, handing a five to the guy at the ice cream stand before turning and heading back towards his bike only to be stopped when Becca called out his name._

"_My dad says we should pray for you."_

"_Don't waste your time," he told her quickly, with a bewitching smile._

_From that point on whenever she saw him around town she would instantly get this fluttering feeling in her stomach from her school girl crush. And she remembered, weeks later waking up early everyday and heading towards the mirror to see if she had become beautiful overnight. But soon the hopes and dreams of a twelve-year-old were crushed and replaced with impending reality. She had indeed lost her baby weight by the time high school came by-and her braces. But she was thin, almost too thin, and waif like, dwarfed by her long hair. On the night of her college graduation, the elitist of Charming High were trying to get into a bit of trouble. And intoxicated, outside a gas station, that same brunette from six years earlier, Kelly Davidson, was cuddled up next to her QB boyfriend Jacob Brooks teasing St. Mary about being lame and virginal. He and Opie had been gassing up their bikes when they caught sight of it. He called out to the brunette, "Hey bitch why don't you run along and suck your boyfriend's dick."_

_Said boyfriend pulled his trash talking girlfriend away from Becca. Clutching the lemonade and bag of chips she had in her hand she sighed and told him thanks._

"_Sorry about that."_

"_No worries," he said and she nodded, looking around and then back down at her feet, "So why aren't you partying it up? You're a senior right."_

"_Can't. Preacher's kid. Got service in the morning."_

"_Oh yeah. So what are your plans-I mean, now that you're done with Charming HS?"_

"_I got a full scholarship to UC San Diego," she said giddily, instantly brightening, "Sorry. Guess I'm a bit excited."_

"_You should be. College seems like you're kind of thing. And to be honest, so does San Diego."_

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_Nothing. Just, if I was Reverend Williamson's kid. I'd definitely want out of Charming_."

Welcome to Charming. Population 14, 679. "Our Name Says It All". If you didn't know that behind her oversized aviators, Rebecca Williamson was crying you would think her snort was a sarcastic and snaky maneuver. She was exhausted. And glad to be home. Charming. The only place she ever really felt safe-even if all her life she felt as if she didn't belong here. She drove down Main Street. Past Floyd's. And Hoffman's Pharmacy. Into the residential bit of her town. She sighed, it was after all hard to believe she was back here. Even if she had planned to be. Just not under these circumstances.

Her parents mailbox was decorated with balloons and there was a sign across the top of the porch that said Welcome Home Rebecca. If her heart had been crushed, it had just completely shattered into irrecoverable small pieces. Snatching her compact out her bag, she hurriedly checked her make-up before her family came rushing out. Her mother was the first one who made it towards her. A small woman with red hair that was now filled with grays and laugh lines that were obvious tells of her disposition. But Baca would warn others not to be fooled. Her oldest brother Mark. A dentist. Married to an average looking blonde in her thirties. Two kids. Elizabeth and Leah. Another on the way. And her brother Aaron who was on leave from the Army. Her father, Shepherd of the congregation of Charming Church, came to her last with a huge welcoming smile on his face. Happy that at last his baby girl, the apple of his eye was home. And then there was her. The twenty-four year old PhD student who of twelve hours ago had become a rape victim.


	2. Chapter 1

She dumped her bags in her old room. A room she hadn't entered in almost two years. Now, she wasn't even sure if she had the intention of leaving. She was supposed to just be here for the summer. Decided to visit her family instead of doing that summer gig in Southeast Asia-Thailand to be specific. And then return back for the next semester in the fall. Her mom was happy to have her home. If the welcome party and the smell of barbecue out back was any indication. Ellen lingered in the doorway and Baca took a deep breath, even though it hurt her ribs, before turning to face her.

"What happened to your face sweetheart?"

Temporarily taken off guard, she carefully took a seat on the edge of the bed and ran a shaking hand through her hair, "Oh I um…had a bit of fall down the stairs. Trying to carry too many bags at once that's all," reaching up to touch her swollen lip. And wincing. Almost going off into that faraway place to relive it.

"Okay. Well, why don't you get freshened up a bit. Maybe put a bit more make-up on. There's some people here I want you to meet."

At her mother's comment she felt her skin itch, burn, crawl with disgust. Knowing full well that there was some man outside her mother wanted to introduce her to. She was after all twenty-four, in the prime of her childbearing years. Dear Lord that woman was relentless when it came to pushing for grandbabies.

"Mom, I'm not really in the mood-."

"Please Rebecca. He's really nice."

Sighing. Angry. Confused. And maybe just a tad bit in shock. She conceded and hopped in the shower quickly, turning the water on scalding hot. Scrubbing. Until her skin turned red from the heat and the effort. Still not feeling clean enough. But knowing that if she stayed any longer, her mother would come looking for her. She looked in the mirror and wiped at her tearing eyes. Throwing her wet heavy hair up into a messy bun she pulled on a navy v-neck tee, a pair of cropped jeans, and flip flops. She was at home. Wanted to be comfortable. Coming out of the bathroom she followed the noise and the smell of warm apple pie to the kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen countertop was a guy in a white polo, blue plaid shorts, and some moccasins. His brown hair was parted and combed to the side. She could admit he was attractive, in that classic boy next door kind of way. But there was something else, something in the way in which he tensed when she entered the room that made her doubt her mother's judgment.

"Rebecca. This is Will. Richard James nephew. You remember him right? I think you two went to school together."

Yeah they had. He had been a dick then. And a boyfriend of Kelly Brooks once upon a time. And something told her he was still a dick now. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. For her mother's sake only.

"Hi."

"Hi. Sorry to hear about the fall you took. It looks like it was pretty nasty."

"Yeah. Just a flight of stairs. Doesn't help though when you got luggage. Mom," she asked ignoring the good looking man next to her, "when's the food going to be ready?"

"Soon honey," was the reply, followed by a look that told her to inquire of Will.

"So," Rebecca said popping her lip, "what have you been up to? Since high school."

"Pharmacy school. Just took a job at St. Thomas. Wanted to be close to home. Especially now. My mom's sick."

"Sorry to hear about that," was the genuine answer.

"Yeah. What about you? Last I heard you were in graduate school."

"Yeah. UC San Diego. PhD in Cultural Anthropology."

"Really? Sounds…fascinating."

Douche. She recognized that pause for what it was. Patronizing. Condescending. Gees, what was her mother thinking even letting this asshole into the house? Instantly she curbed her thoughts as if being back under her parents roof immediately placed guilt on whatever came out of her own brain. But she couldn't help the look she shot at good ole Will James. And as if realizing his mistake, he took a sip of his lemonade, before asking what did her degree actually entail.

"My focus is on Southeast Asia and cultural ideals regarding," because she was scared to even mention the word sex in her house, "religion," that was partly true, "and kinship relations revealed through traditional dance. I was actually planning on heading to Thailand this summer but I decided to come home instead. Missed my family and all."

"That sounds very interesting. So what's the plan? I mean after you get your PhD and all."

"Hopefully my girl is going to come back home," her mother interrupted leaving the _And get married and give birth to my grandchildren_ unsaid. Becca just forced a smile and took a sip of her own lemonade, hoping that gripping the glass would keep someone from noticing how her hands were shaking.

"Ellen-we're out of barbecue sauce," her father called from the grill in the backyard.

"I'll go pick up some daddy," she yelled back, grabbing her father's car keys off the rack on the wall and some spare bills in the bowl by the door, then rushed out the house, not even giving her mother the opportunity to tell her to take Will with her.

It was the same story every time she came home. Somebody she had grew up with. Who was single and attended church. That was the only requirement apparently needed to satisfy her mother's need for…whatever it was. It wasn't as if she didn't have Elizabeth and Leah. Elizabeth was five and Leah was three. They were fairly new on the scene. She had enough grandchildren to hold her over until Aaron could deliver. Because now, now that she was damaged goods, she wasn't sure she would ever be able to give her mother what she wanted. A beautiful church wedding. Her in a white dress. And even more beautiful grandchildren. She parked her father's not exactly new and not exactly old Toyota Camry before releasing a deep sigh of frustration.

Picking up the bottle of barbecue sauce took all of five minutes. The store hadn't changed much-hadn't taken her long to find the correct aisle. Approaching the line at the front, she tripped on the flop part of her flip flops and stumbled into someone. Looking up, it was none other than the beautiful Queen of Bikers. Gemma Teller. Well Gemma Teller Morrow. She looked almost exactly the same. Brown hair with blonde streaks. Jeans. Tank top. Diamond hoops in her ear. Not to mention the _'I'm a tough bitch' _vibe she was rocking.

"Sorry. I'm a bit clumsy," she managed to get out quickly.

"Don't worry about it sweetheart," she said, looking her up and down, "You're Reverend Williamson's kid," she noted.

"Yeah. Becca."

"I thought you were off at graduate school or something."

"Yeah. I am. UC San Diego. Just…um, home for the summer."

Eyeing the barbecue sauce in the redhead's hand Gemma said, "Having a welcome home party?"

"Yeah. Mom loves to entertain. Barbecue is on the grill. Kid pool set up for my two nieces."

"Sweet," Gemma said before asking the obvious, "What the hell happened to your face?"

The question had attracted a few of the nosy patrons in line. Charming was a small town. The preacher's daughter talking to the Queen of Charming was sure to garner some attention. Especially when she was sporting a busted lip and some bruising underneath her cheekbone and surrounding her eye.

"I um…fell down some stairs when I was leaving my apartment in San Diego. Had a bit of difficulty with my bags. And I'm-."

"Not the most coordinated individual. Like you said," Gemma said crossing her arms over her chest, not buying the bullshit.

"Yeah. Like I said."

"So do you fall down stairs a lot?"

"No," she snapped, almost too quickly. And the older woman cocked an eyebrow, mouth parting about to speak. Becca furrowed her brows at the other woman's expression, "This was a one time thing. I'll be more careful next time. You know with my luggage."

"Hmm. Did your baggage send you tumbling down the stairs here in Charming or back in San Diego?"

"San Diego. I was in a rush to get home."

"Yeah. I bet you were," she replied hastily and turned back to face the front of the line. Feeling that familiar sense of worry beginning to set up shop in her flawed chest. _Fuck._


	3. Chapter 2

She couldn't believe she was doing this. Becca hadn't been kissed many times in her life. Seems odd for someone who was twenty-four years old right? When she was fifteen there had been that brief peck on the lips from Tommy Meyer at a CHS basketball game. Only for him to bail on her five minutes later and not speak to her ever again following the incident. Then there were the few times in college. Her roommate Amber had encouraged her to at least go out on a date. But that had been three or four times only. She was always so focused-on her studies, on staying away from Charming that she never really found the opportunity to shed her shyness and her identity as the preacher's kid. So she knew she wasn't a great kisser. So why was she straddling Will in his car that was currently parked at the gas pump? It was the rumble of an approaching motorcycle that got her attention.

They had gone to dinner-in Oakland, outside of the gossiping, prying eyes who were probably picking out wedding invitations if her mother had anything to do with it-and had stopped for gas on the way back. Before he could get out of the car, she had just launched herself at him. She didn't know why. Couldn't understand the sudden need to be wanted, empowered, or whatever the hell emotion she was craving right now. To be fair, Will was a decent kisser. Attractive. And she had to admit, his hands firmly-or roughly, whichever way you called it-gripping her thighs had been hot at first. But now, now all of a sudden she felt disgusted with herself. Pulling back, she looked down into Will's eyes and felt her stomach lurch.

Throwing open the driver's door she stepped out, wobbly on a pair of black stilettos that Amber had gifted her for her birthday last October, and made her way towards the back of the car, compelled to lean over for the dry heaves. Nothing came up. Thank God. With a sick thought she heard a torturing whispering that said, "You look too pretty to puke." Once the ringing in her ear's stopped she looked up to see that it was Will, with a creepy smile on his face, and the torturing whisper belonged to him. He stroked her hair, hand moving down her back to wrap around her waist grazing her full but not oversized breast in the process, the touch causing the jersey material of her slinky and clingy short black sleeveless cocktail dress to graze across a nipple-stiffening it in the process. She saw a look in his eyes that could only be described as predatory. It frightened her. She staggered away from him.

"Sorry Will but I'm ready to go home," she told him, trying to muster all the confidence that she was not feeling.

"Now? But we were having such a good time," he said, voice smooth and charming, as he reached for her but she shrugged out of his hold again. Still smiling he grabbed at her again, this time a little bit more forcefully, yanking her towards his body, "Now Rebecca. Now's not the time to be a tease," still in that charming tone of voice. But she recognized that tone. Had only been two days since she heard it. And thought to herself _Not again_.

"I'm walking," she said quietly, voice undeniably shaky, but she shoved him and turned to walk away. Hoping he would leave it at that but she wasn't surprised when he grabbed her wrist, painfully, and spun her around. The reaction was quick, instantaneous. Her hand came up and whipped across his face, the scruff of his beard scratching against her palm but there was a large red handprint on the side of his face.

"Teasing bitch," he grunted at her, yanking her towards his body and trying to direct her to the passenger side of his relatively new navy blue Honda Civic. He was interrupted when he heard a shout from across the parking lot.

Rebecca looked up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, to see none other than Jackson Teller approaching them. He was wearing a pair of baggy jeans, white sneakers, and a white t-shirt that had SOA printed across the front. Not to mention his cut. Her eyes zeroed in on the knife strapped to his belt. He looked the same. Pretty boy good looks, what with that blonde hair that abruptly stopped at his shoulders and eyes that she knew from her small childhood crush to be almost impossibly blue.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem at all. Me and my girl here just having a little bit of an argument," Will said with that same charming smile.

Jax spared Becca a look and his eyes narrowed before he looked Will over and then back at Becca, "You're Reverend Williamson's kid. Becca."

"Yeah," she whispered meekly, heart pounding, trying to figure out what the hell would happen next.

"Everything okay," he asked her and she was skeptical of what appeared to be genuine concern in her tone. She opened her mouth to answer only to be interrupted by Will.

"Said she's fine. Just a bit of-."

"I heard you. I was asking her. Because it seemed to me your argument was more of an altercation," he said, voice getting that intimidating tone that had Will's eyes darting to the knife at his side, "Becca-you want a ride?"

"Um," she thought, eyes looking between Will and Jax and back again. Her heart was still beating fast and Will still held a painful grip on her wrist. Then she remembered. Remembered being ten years old and crashing her first (and last) bike in front of his house, him picking her up and carrying her into his mother's house so his mom could fix her banged up knee. Remembered him buying her ice cream when she was twelve after running off some neighborhood bullies. Remembered him telling off Kelly Brooks, Will's ex-girlfriend, the night of her high school graduation, "Yeah. That'd be cool," she told him, trying to step out of Will's grasp-who was holding on fast until Jax's hand twitched and moved towards the back of his jeans. Her eyes widened and Will tossed her towards the biker with a statement that she should've known would seal her fate.

"You can have the bitch," and then he slammed the driver's door and sped out of the parking lot. Never bought his gas.

Jax looked Becca Williamson over. Damn. He remembered once telling her she would grow into her looks. He hadn't believed it then. But it definitely happened. Lithe little body with ample curves, a good size rack, and sexy legs on display with the stilettos she was wearing. Her hair was still that odd fiery copper red color but it was longer, falling all the way down her back, almost to her hips, wavier. And she had big round green eyes, framed by endless glossy dark lashes set it in a heart shaped freckled face with a button nose and kissable lips, the bottom one slightly larger. She didn't wear much make-up, all he could tell she had on was some lip gloss. Which in his opinion made it even better. She didn't look worse for wear like the sweet butts and crow eaters that were normally hanging all over him.

He sighed and picked up her wrist, noticing her wince and the bruising beginning to form already, "You alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks for that. Seems like you're always coming to the rescue."

"Don't worry about it darlin'," he told her with a sexy smirk, "Who was that asshole anyway? Boyfriend?"

"No. Just a date. Will James," she told him, when his brow furrowed she expounded, "Richard James nephew."

"Oh. He doesn't seem like your type," he let slip out, inwardly slapping himself _What the hell was that Teller _he thought. And he was about to say something else when she snorted.

"I know. It was for my mom. She invited him to my welcome home party. And it won't be happening again. Trust me."

He laughed. Glad that she wasn't connected to that douche. Realizing he was still holding her wrist he dropped it, "I could take you back to my place to put some ice on that wrist."

"Wow," she chuckled, "Smooth Teller. But if that's the case, I think I'll just walk."

"Hold up, no need to get feisty darlin'. I offered you a ride," he smirked, "and I'll take you home. Strictly home. No more offers to play doctor."

Amber would've been amused. Becca and Jax, standing in the parking lot of a gas station at around 10:30 at night. And he was flirting. She wished it was under different circumstances. That they were two different people. Then maybe it would've made sense.

"Thanks. But um," she crinkled her nose, "could you drop me off at the corner of my house. I'm pretty sure both my parents would have a heart attack-."

"If they saw you getting off my bike. Yeah, mine too," he joked good naturedly before leading her towards his bike. He handed her his helmet and instructed her to climb on behind him before asking if she had ever been on a motorcycle before. She told him only a couple of times. Her answer piqued his interest but instead of asking her to explain he made his way out of the gas station parking lot towards Charming.

Holding on to Jax, Becca felt the wind ripping against her hair soothing. She buried her face in his back, the scent of the leather of his cut relaxing the tension in her muscles. Her wrist throbbed and holding on so tight wasn't helping it. She imagined the sight they made. Her dress had ridden up considerably due to her position and she had a hard time at first positioning her shoes steadily on his bike. It made her heart beat faster. Almost as fast as when she was dancing. The time in her life when she was happiest, freest, daring. All too soon the feeling ended and they entered Charming. She knew the rumble of his Harley wasn't going to wake anyone. The sound of motorcycles in Charming was a regular occurrence. He stopped at the stop sign three houses down from her own. She hopped off and handed him his helmet.

"So…thanks. For the thing with Will. And the ride."

"You're welcome Rebecca. See ya' around," he said before staring up his bike again and speeding down her street. She stood there at the stop sign, watching the lights of his bike ease out of her vision before she sighed and walked towards her house, up the driveway, whipping out her key.


	4. Chapter 3

Head pounding, Becca made her way down to the kitchen for breakfast. She

hadn't been able to sleep much last night-not with thoughts of Will in her head. She had woken up a time or two gasping for breath. And she said a quick prayer each time for Jax Teller-grateful that he had been there when Will had grabbed her. Stalling at the foot of the steps she massaged her wrists before stepping out into the morning sunlight streaming through her mother's drapes. Looking at the table she noticed pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash browns. Reminded that without her mom around she didn't have breakfasts like this often. Most days it was a pop-tart and a cup of coffee. If she was really lucky she stumbled out of bed in time for some cereal. On Sundays was when she truly indulged. But her pancakes just weren't quite as good as her mother's.

"Smells good mom," she smiled, taking a seat at the table. Her dad at the head and her mom sitting across from her.

"Now that you're awake, finally," the man at the table joked, "would you like to say grace?"

"Um…that's alright. You take this one Reverend," she said with an inward flinch and an outward smile. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, afraid that instead of hearing her father's kind voice as he thanked God for the food they were about to eat she would hear the spine shivering inducing whisper. She hadn't been a woman who felt helpless and afraid most of her life. Years of being bullied made her hard on the outside. Most of the time she ignored the hurt and kept walking with her head high like it hadn't bothered her. But this one thing she couldn't ignore. It was all over her. Inside her. Constantly festering, waiting to explode and destroy everything from the inside out.

"So how was your date with Will last night," her mother asked, handing her the plate of bacon. She looked up at her dad, who was sparing a look at her out of the corner of his eye. The expression on his face was one of sympathy.

"Awful," she replied on reflex, biting her lip once it slipped. Damn. She had such a good lie set up. Hoping just for a moment to get her mom off her back for a little while at least by distracting her with a relationship that was never going to happen.

"What happened?"

_Too late now_. Becca was tempted to just give up on breakfast and give the lame excuse that she needed to get her oil changed, it was slowing up the acceleration, and that she needed to take it into Teller-Morrow. It was legit. And she would convince herself that it had nothing to do with Jax Teller coming to her rescue. But instead she took a sip of her orange juice and said, "He's not a nice guy mom. He's a jerk. He's full of himself."

"Seriously Rebecca? You're still holding high school against him? It could be all that pent up resentment you've got made him nervous," Ellen said with a grim expression on her face.

Becca looked between her mother and her father, who was currently sipping his coffee-black and uneventful, the same way he had been taking it for the twenty-four years she'd been in the world- and had picked up the morning paper studying it a bit too intently for her tastes. He didn't want to get in the middle of it. Never had. Mainly because he agreed with his wife. Unlike her mother though, Pastor Matthew Williamson only said things once. She knew where he stood and that was enough for her father. Her mother on the hand liked to push.

"Do you hear yourself," she asked incredulously.

"Rebecca, I'm your mother and I love you. I just want you to be happy. Will's a nice man. And sooner or later you're going to realize that traipsing around Asia isn't going to get you anything."

"How about it makes me happy? Why should I have to give up my life to live somebody else's because you did?"

"That's enough Rebecca," her father snapped in that authoritative tone she remembered from her childhood.

She bit her lip, heart racing, legs and hands shaking. She wasn't angry. She wasn't scared. She was in that odd place where she was a little bit of both. Scared because she was afraid. Scared in her anger she might say the things that she was feeling. That her mother didn't understand. That Will was probably an abusive asshole. That it didn't matter because once it got out that she was damaged goods, no man would want her anyway. And in her fear she was frightened. Frightened of what she had become. An angry woman who couldn't sleep at night for fear that someone she had trusted for the past six years of her life now had so much negative power and control. She was constantly fearful that he would arrive here, at her home. That he was waiting for her back in San Diego. That this wasn't the end of it. He had taken her virginity, her ability to trust, and now he was after her peace of mind.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't apologize. As long as it doesn't happen again."

"Yes sir," she bit out. Feeling as if she was twelve years old all over again.

"Your mother's right. Settling down is something you need to think about. Now," he bit into his pancakes, "what's your plan for the summer?"

She sighed. That's what she hated about their relationship. They could dismiss problems as if they never had any. Taking another bite of bacon she swallowed before playing along, "Thought I might get a job. You know to hold me over for the summer?" _In case I don't go back_.

"Sounds like a good idea," Matthew said before turning his gaze on Ellen who was still staring at her daughter, he noticed her hand gripping the syrup, "Doesn't it Ellen?"

"Of course it does sweetheart," was the reply that snapped her out of her fight for self-control, the façade of the sweet housewife quickly slipping back into place, "Heard Lumpy's is looking for a waitress. Might be good for you."

"I'll swing by their today. By the way dad, I need to get my oil changed-you think you can spare me some cash to swing by Teller-Morrow? Promise I will pay you back."

"Sure sweetheart. But you be careful-over there at TM."

"Yes sir," was the reply, a reply that came without hesitation.

In a pair of her best jeans, flip-flops, and a navy v-neck t-shirt Becca made her way into Lumpy's. She noticed five bikes parked out in front and took a deep breath before opening the door. She wasn't one of those women who went all googly eyed over a bad boy on a motorcycle. And she wasn't an idiot-she knew the Sons weren't on the legal side of the fence but growing up in Charming she also knew that the Sons kept big business out of small town USA and kept Charming, well, small town. And folks were grateful for it-until something went wrong. It wasn't necessarily a deal with the devil just more like the lesser of two evils. She walked past tables and booths to the counter and smiled at Mary, the plump cook/part-owner of Lumpy's because like most everything in Charming Lumpy's was a family owned and operated diner. In her mid-sixties with graying blonde hair, an old fashioned apron and well worn jeans Mary looked like the member of her father's congregation that she was. She was also a member of her mother's book club but the redhead choose to overlook that.

"Becca girl, how you been? I was wondering when you were going to stumble in here," she said in that loud booming endearing voice as she walked around the counter to envelop the preacher's daughter in a warm fierce hug, ending the embrace with a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"Hey Mary. How you doing?"

"Good. The arthritis isn't helping much these days but other than everything's great. You hungry? I'm just about to take some apple pie out."

"No. Mom made breakfast this morning. I was actually here," she began, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet and throwing around nervous looks across the diner. That's when she spotted him. He was sitting next to Opie Winston and that Alex Trager guy. But there was also two guys she didn't recognize. One Son was tanned, sported a Mohawk and tattoos on his head, she couldn't get a good look at the other, he was turned away from her. He was laughing at something Mohawk guy had said, replying with a slight jab to the guy's upper arm. He offered a smile, more like a smirk. And it was flirtatious in nature.

"Becca," came Mary's voice loudly, complimented by a small smack on her arm.

"What," she answered, quickly, snapping her head back around to face the woman she hoped was about to hire her. Mary's eyes darted between her and the table full of Sons and her mouth opened to say something. Probably a warning. Probably asking her if she was okay. Two things she preferred not to deal with right now. So she interrupted. "Yeah, mom said you were looking for waitresses. Got something that can hold me over for the summer?"

"When can you start," the woman smiled. Becca let out a sigh of relief she hadn't even realized was coming. She had worked here years ago, after school, weekends, and during summers. Back when Mary was just about the only other friend she had.

"Tomorrow," but then seeing her new boss cross her arms over her chest, "Today?"

"9.50 an hour plus tips. Be here tomorrow morning at 6," she informed her, tossing her an apron from a cubby behind the counter, a notepad, and a pencil "Go do your job Becca girl," she instructed her with a smile, jerking her head toward the table full of SOA. Mary watched with baited breath as Becca approached the table. She'd known the girl all her life. So she knew that when Rebecca Williamson's gaze lingered on a table full of Sons, shit was bound to hit the fan.

She tried not to be nervous. Really. She was sure he had girls on the back of his bike all the time. And it had been just a much needed lift not a commitment. Why her heart decided to speed up at the sight of him, why her breath decided to hitch in anticipation, and why there was a numbing jittery sensation in her fingertips was a question she just couldn't answer right now. Maybe later. She had a habit of putting hard hitting issues on the back burner.

"Hi boys. What can I get you?"

"Are you on the menu," said that Trager guy.

"Cut it out Tig," said the guy she hadn't seen at first. He had a clear accent-Scottish maybe. How he ended up across the bond in SAMCRO territory was a question that had the anthropologist in her piqued. And now that she saw him, she tried not to zoom in on his scars. Her mother had always told her not to stare, to be polite. So she tried to overlook them. She wouldn't call them a flaw. He was handsome. Granted not in any sort of typical fashion but when she thought of SOA, guys like him came to mind. She couldn't help but smile at the thought of it. She liked him. At least she did until he said, "But are you lassie?"

"Guys-," Jax started.

She bit her lip before interrupting, "I expect you gentlemen to be better at flirting. Now are we done, so I can take your orders? Or do you need a couple more minutes to come up with better pick-up lines," she said on baited breath, her fingers trembling as they clung to her pencil and the small notepad. It felt good some of that spark she had possessed. But even though it was a part of herself, it felt forced. Fake. A lie.

"I think we're ready to order darlin'," he said with a smile and smirks thrown across the table.

Becca didn't even bother to look back up at the men in front of her as she jotted down their lunch orders. Embarrassed and confused, she gave a brief sigh before telling them that she'd be right back with their drinks. She reached into her back pocket for a hair tie and headed back to the kitchen, pulling her heavy hair into a messy bun oblivious to the table full of men she left behind watching her.

"Jackie Boy, who's the feisty redhead?"

"That there is Rebecca Williamson."

"Williamson? As in preacher man Williamson's kid," Tig asked.

"That'd be the one."

"When she left town she was an ugly little bitch," he continued. Jax smirked, remembering far too well seeing her at the gas station on graduation night. He chuckled. Yeah she had been. "Damn bitch grew into a fucking hot piece of ass."

"Yeah she did. Last night she was off at the gas station a couple of miles outside of town. Had a crap date. I gave her a ride home."

"So what? You hoping she's a bit grateful," Juice joked. His only answer was his VP's shrug.

Becca dropped off her orders to Marty in the back before heading to the bathroom to splash some water on her face. She was feeling a bit warm and anxious. She took a deep breath before grabbing some paper towels and wiping down her face. She didn't bother to look in the mirror. Making a brisk move out the door she bumped into Mary who grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the bathroom with a yelp.

"Mary? What-."

"What's going on with you? You've been back a couple of days already and this is the fist time I'm seeing you. And then I see you and you're mouthing off to some Sons?"

"I wasn't mouthing off Mary. They were flirting with me-badly I might add," she answered back nonchalantly, crossing her arms over her chest and instinctively taking a step back.

"I saw you staring at them when you came in. And why are you so jumpy Becca girl," the older woman asked in a sweet tone, raising her hands to rub soothing caresses down Becca's arms. Coming to an abrupt halt in her efforts when Becca took another step back.

"Look Mary. I've known you all my life. And I love you. But you gave me a job. And policing what I say and who I say it to has nothing to do with me waiting tables," she argued, shoving past her outside to grab four beers.

She slapped four drinks down on the tabletop and began to storm off before Jax grabbed her wrists, quickly she jerked her hand out off his grasp and with one finger held up told him not to touch her.

"Sorry Becca. I mean these boys bad attempts at flirting surely didn't piss you off that much. I wanted to apologize on their behalf anyway."

"Um…sorry," she said on a long breath, "It's just been a bit of a long day."

"I'll bet."

"Look," she hesitated, noting Mohawk guy giving her a leering and appreciative glance. With another deep breath she continued, "my car needs an oil change. I was thinking of bringing it over to Teller-Morrow-."

"Yeah sure. We're headed there after lunch. Why don't you bring it by then?" Becca looked back over the counter, seeing Mary eye her with suspicion. She gave him a slight nod before heading over to another table to take orders. _Damn_.

XXXXXXXXXREAPERXXXXXXXXXXX

Somehow this was a bad idea. At least that's what she had convinced herself. There was no denying she needed an oil change. It was getting so bad that it was slowing up the acceleration. She cursed, hating the fact that Teller-Morrow Automotive was the only place in Charming where she could get her oil changed. She was actually considering turning around and heading over to Lodi. But before she could even think about it, she was met by a sandy haired kid in a cut at her window.

"What you need," he asked, not even bothering to look up from the clipboard in his hand.

"Uh Jax said I could come by for an oil change."

That seemed to get his attention, his head snapped up and he eyed her. She rolled her eyes. Her parents had always assured her she would grow into her looks. And she didn't believe them at the time. Now she wished they had been wrong. It had got her nothing but trouble.

"Yeah cool. I'll take care of it. Take these forms," he said, opening the car door for her, "up to the office. Gemma will get you set up."

"Thanks," she said stepping out of the car, eyeing the form and making her way in the direction that the kid in the cut pointed her. Walking in, she saw Gemma sitting at a desk in jeans and a tank top. She had to admit, the woman looked good.

"Um…they told me to bring these forms to you," Becca said, handing out the paperwork to the MC Matriarch. She was suddenly struck by the undertones of their last conversation. And somehow, when Gemma slowly pulled her reading glasses from the bridge of her nose, she knew where this conversation was headed.

"Becca. Your face healed up nicely."

"Yeah. Bruises do that," she snapped. When Gemma cocked an eyebrow at her, she bit her lip, "Sorry."

Gemma stood up. She had to give the girl credit. Gemma could tell she wanted to shift under her gaze but she didn't. She hold her stance and her gaze. Walking towards her slowly, almost like a predator, she plucked the paperwork from Becca's grasp and looked it over.

"Oil change?"

"Yeah."

"That'll be fifty even."

Becca reached into her bag and pulled out her wallet, releasing a sigh of frustration. She knew when she was being sized up. And after the past twenty-four hours she really didn't appreciate it. She was here for an oil change. She didn't come in with a sinister attitude and some diabolical master plot. Why the hell had Gemma engaged her in a fucking Mexican standoff? The last three days had been working on her sliver of patience and even less miniscule peace of mind. She hadn't slept more than a couple hours. If you looked at her close enough you could tell. Handing a couple of bills over to her, Becca asked where the bathroom was.

Gemma watched the girl retreat to the bathroom. She gave a snort. There was something seriously going on with that bitch. And as if fate was confirming her suspicions her son walked in, eyes darting across the room.

"Hey baby."

"Hey ma. Sack said he sent the oil change chick in here? We'll be done in about twenty minutes."

"So," his mom asked, crossing her arms over her chest, "did you know the oil change chick is actually Pastor Williamson's kid."

"Yeah. I know."

"How?"

"Oh c'mon Ma. Don't start."

She pinned him with a look and he sighed, rolling his head on his neck before confessing that he had run into her at the gas station last night. He left out the part about her asshole date. And giving her ride back home. He did tell her about their meeting at Lumpy's this morning. And he witnessed the cool calculation that passed over her face. He knew that look. That suspicious what-the-fuck-is-going-on-do-I-need-to-be-worried look? He rolled his eyes.

"Where is she? I'll tell her myself."

"Bathroom," she told him slowly, leaning on the desk and watching her son leave the room. She was worried. He was his father's son.

Jax chuckled at the sight of his mother going all mama-bear. Damn, he hadn't been joking when he had told Becca that his mom would have a heart attack had she seen him dropping her off last night. He was sure it would've ignited the family flaw. She worried too much. At most, all he wanted was to tap her. That's it. Hit it and quit it. He was looking for a fuck not a commitment. Granted considering who she was he might have to work a little bit harder than normal. She wasn't a croweater. Or a sweet butt. Or some other chick who was enthralled by his cut and his good looks. He wasn't arrogant. Just honest. He was a good looking son of a bitch and he knew it. Knocking on the door he called her name. No answer. He was worried momentarily that his mom had pulled that intimidating thing she did and scared the shit out of the preacher's little girl. But he knocked again just to make sure, this time a bit harder. He was going to give up before the door opened slightly and he heard a small sniffle.

Opening the door he saw Becca sitting on the bathroom floor, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. _Oh shit_. He carefully walked in, quietly shutting the door behind him. He looked up at the mirror. There were a few spots of red across the glass. Immediately his eyes went down to her crying figure and noticed the blood on her knuckles. _Oh shit. _Things were seemingly becoming a bit more complicated than a fuck.

"Becca?"

She heard his voice. Heard him calling her name. But she couldn't answer. She just kept staring in front of her, unsure herself of what she was even looking at. Her hair had long fallen out of the cheap hair tie. And she was crying, a little bit too hard. There was blood on her hands. Her own. From where she had punched the mirror at the sight of her reflection. This was it. She knew it had been coming. Had known it would destroy her from the inside and out. She had finally lost it.

"_Thank You Professor Marin. As usual, it's been a good semester," Becca said, sounding all bubbly and looking on with happy innocent wide eyes. How anyone could look innocent at twenty-four was a question that had been asked many a-night over beers between her, Amber, Sara, and their friend Eric. She started to walk out of class but stopped when Professor Marin asked her to stay behind for a minute. The sound of the heavy door to the lecture hall slamming shut should've been creepy. But how many times in the past six years had she been alone in a room with Professor Marin? Too many times to count, "Something wrong?"_

"_I wanted to talk to you about your trip to Thailand. Make sure everything's in order."_

"_Everything's great. Thanks for the letter of recommendation by the way. I don't think I would've got the funding had it not been for you."_

"_You are very welcome," he told her, steeping close. Becca quirked her gaze before nodding and she was beginning to get a feeling in the bottom of her stomach. But she ignored it and the urge to step back._

"_Well. If that's all then I-."_

"_Actually there is something else I wanted to talk to you about," he told her on a husky whisper before leaning down and pressing his mouth to hers. She froze. Stood there. Confused. Shaken. Before she gathered her senses together and pushed him away from her._

"_Professor Marin, what the hell are you doing?"_

"_Rebecca-," he said reaching for her._

"_No," she yelled, turning away from him before he grabbed her wrist and yanked her around to face him. Now afraid, she raised her hand and sent it across his face. Too stunned herself by the situation, she hesitated to leave. Hesitated a second to long because before she could even turn on the heel of her foot, he threw his arms around her waist and slammed her down on the ground, pinning her down by throwing his weight on top of her, his knee seamlessly sliding between her dress and up the light pleated navy skirt she wore._

"_Get off of me," she shouted, hangs going up to shove, pry, scratch, pull, panic beginning to rise from her stomach into her chest, quickening her heart beat. To stop her yelling he clamped his hand down over her mouth, pressing his upper body into her waist, sending a sharp pain through her waist and sides. And then she saw it. The absolute determination shining through his eyes. No fear. No guilt. No hesitation. She knew what was coming._

"He raped me," she whispered against her skin, mumbling low.

Jax stiffened at her side. He had come to sit down beside her, throwing an arm around her trembling body. Picking up a hand to examine the damage. She was going to have to get that cleaned and bandaged up. And she had been making incoherent noises but this, what she had just said, had been clear as day. But he hoped he was wrong. Hoped she hadn't said what he thought she did.

"What happened Becca," he whispered. Watching her lift her head. A hand latch onto his cut as she pulled herself closer to his body, almost seeking some sort of solace. Her make-up was running and her eyes, big green luminescent pools were overrun with tears.

"He raped me."

Never in his life had such a strong sense of vengeance, hatred, and possessiveness rushed through his entire being. What kind of sick bastard would ruin something so beautiful? He had often been accused of caring too much. Of being too sympathetic. But that wasn't the truth. He was a passionate guy. He loved hard. But he could hate just as hard. And hate could drive a man to do some things despicable and unworthy of redemption in the eyes of the world. And right now, he hated what had been done to Becca Williamson. So he held her. Held her as she cried. It didn't last long. Five minutes at most before she ceased sniffling and tearing, bringing her busted hands up to her face.

"I'm-."

"Don't apologize," he sighed, looking her in the eyes and tucking a strand of hair behind her head, "Look wash your face. And then meet me outside. I want to take you somewhere so we can talk."

"No, you don't have to-."

"I want to," he told her, trying to be as soft and gentle as he possibly could. Girl was a mess. Didn't need her afraid of him when all he wanted was to help. And for the life of him, he couldn't quite figure out why that was.

Coming out of the bathroom, he was met by his step-father who looked over his shoulder over at the bathroom door and back at Jax.

"Mom said Pastor Williamson's daughter in there?"

"Yeah."

Silence passed between them before Clay reached into his cut and pulled out a cigar and a light, "Something you want to tell me son?"

"Nothing to tell," Jax answered on reflex. It didn't bother him. Lying. Besides it wasn't his story to tell. And he had a feeling he was the only one who knew. Before Clay could come back with a wise ass crack or a warning to watch himself, Becca came out. Face wiped clean, looking fresh, young, and not like the typical girl Jax had riding bitch on the back of his bike, "You ready?"

She just nodded, not even bothering to acknowledging Clay's presence. President looked at his VP and the girl standing next to him, close to him, who had obviously been crying and saw a potential issue. Step-father looked at step-son and saw a shit storm brewing, a storm threatening to knock over a few tress and crush a few homes in the process. He stepped aside and watched Jax lead her towards his bike, handing her his helmet. Watched the girl wrap her arms tightly around him. Hopefully, this was just a fuck. He did not need his VP dealing with another Tara.

The only explanation for riding through Charming with Becca on his bike in broad daylight was that they had both been too shocked. Him by Becca's revelation and her by the fact that she actually revealed it. Still so much in shock, Becca didn't even see Mary coming outside of Lumpy's for a smoke as the bike came to a stop at Main Street.


	5. Chapter 4

Making a turn on the pass to the streams, Jax admitted to himself that hauling Becca off on the back of his bike right through Charming had been an impulsive and reckless decision. He imagined she was fragile and that she hadn't been in much shape to argue with him. He felt a slight twinge of disgusting guilt at the thought. Bossing around a rape victim sure wasn't going to get him any brownie points with the man upstairs-if there was even a man upstairs. It'd be just his look that it was a woman who was calling the shots. His thoughts drifted to his mother and he smiled.

He decided that her telling him what had happened had obviously been a rather impulsive decision as well, brought out by the emotional turmoil he had found her in when he entered the Teller Morrow office bathroom. Of all things when he knocked on the door he hadn't seen that coming. He also decided that there wasn't anything particularly special about him that had possessed her to tell him. It had just happened. But he was pretty sure that he was the only person she had told. And he wasn't sure how he liked being burdened with a secret like that.

She had been silent for the ride, opting to wrap her arms tightly around him, clutching to his cut, when they came around curves, and rest her head on his back. Oddly enough, he himself found the sensation comforting. As if he had never had a chick on the back of his bike before. His bike came to a stop on a patch of dirt road, the rumbling ceding to the lulling sound of the water in the background. He turned slightly to face the girl behind, still with her arms around him.

"The streams?"

"Yeah. I come here. Sometimes."

She crinkled her nose a bit, one singular eyebrows raised and he couldn't but chuckle before explaining, "To think. It's peaceful out here."

"I image being Vice President is stressful," she told him blandly as she climbed off his Harley. _You have no idea_, he thought as he watched her flawed manicured nails reach up to fumble with the clasp of the helmet. He smiled and reached to help, but she batted his fingers away, "Sorry. But um, I got it," she told him on a whisper with a blush. She fumbled for a few more seconds before getting it off. Handing it to him, she watched him prop it on his handlebars. "So, why'd you bring me here?"

"Didn't think you wanted to talk on the bathroom floor. Besides, no one's out here. Figured-."

"How do you know I haven't told anybody else?"

He stood up, towering over her, invading her personal space. He was pushing. He knew it. But he figured a girl like Becca needed it. He watched her flinch, ignore the urge to step back. She stared up into his eyes, blinking a bit too furiously for his taste, but then diverted her eyes to the ground. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, he almost didn't hear her when she said, "Okay. I get it. No need to get all intimidating trying to push the truth out of me. I didn't give you as much credit as you deserve."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're a lot smarter than I thought you'd be," she blurted.

"Hey," he chuckled, "Don't let the good looks fool you. I'm not VP by happenstance."

"No. I suppose not," she told him making her way around him and leaning against an old oak tree. That tree was probably at least a hundred years old. Well worn. But sturdy. With roots right here in Charming, fed by the fertile ground watered by the streams. She sighed and wondered why she had left her hometown in the first place. She had never been a complainer but she had whined on the inside, about not ever fitting in, racked by her constant companion of loneliness. Funny enough she thought that if she left her family she could find solace and companionship. And she had. But she had still felt like the odd man out. When Amber had been living the American collegiate dream of frat parties and Starbucks to make it through early morning classes she had been getting actual sleep-avoiding those surfer upperclassmen in polo shirts and cargo shorts. Sarah and Eric had been that on-again-off-again couple who were destined for marriage seven years from now and she had been stuck with a handful of meaningless dates that had left her yearning for any type of intimate connection.

In there group it was always Amber and whatever guy was the flavor of the month, the drama that was Sarah and Eric, and then there had been her. The quiet friend with a penchant for honesty and a stereotypical quick redhead temper. She had indulged in maybe one or two parties before she accepted that it wasn't her scene, often finding herself in the library and the dance studio. And she was comfortable, even if loneliness was the only person that really understood her-defined her. She could fake it well. A laugh and a good natured joke here and there kept people from uncovering the truth. Leaving Charming for college hadn't gotten her much of anything besides a clearer picture of herself. The outside world could be harsher than hometown bullies and without any attachments she had to be strong all the time, otherwise that loneliness would consume her. And loneliness sometimes led to desperate action. Not that she was suicidal or anything. But she had thought about it, maybe once or twice. Professor Marin had done the one thing to her that could cause almost irrevocable damage. He had convinced her that she wasn't strong enough.

Jax watched Becca sigh and then slide down the tree, landing in a heap on the ground. She picked up a stick of grass and twirled it around her fingers. She kept tugging at her hair, glancing at the water here and there. She kicked off her flip flops and he stared at the dainty pointed toes. He sighed and glanced around- half expecting one of his brothers or some of those damn nosy teenagers who hung out here to smoke pot, drink crappy cheap beer, and get laid to pop out of the trees- before sitting down opposite her. He didn't know who was going to talk first. He imagined she was embarrassed, ashamed, or some sort of ridiculous shit. A quick image of her on the bathroom floor had his fists clenching. He examined her hands, they would need to be cleaned and bandaged.

"How are your hands?"

She frowned and looked down at them, almost if she didn't even know how bad they looked. In his time he had definitely seen and had worse. But she didn't need to know that. She shrugged, "Sore. Punching the mirror was probably a stupid thing. I've only ever punched one thing before."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was sophomore year of college. My roommate and best friend, well for what it counts, Amber convinced me to go to this frat party. I got a bit intoxicated and some girl grabbed my hair, accused me of flirting with her boyfriend. I punched her. Hard. And it hurt. Like a lot."

"Damn. You don't look the type."

"Don't be mistaken, I have it in me. It's just that growing up here, with everyone watching me. Either waiting for me to screw up or praying that I don't-throwing punches isn't a good idea."

"Being a preacher's kid that much work?"

"You have no idea. Everyone watching. No identity outside your family's. But I guess you'd know what that feels like."

"Maybe," he shrugged.

He looked away from the intuitive redhead. She was right though. He had not one but two fathers to live up to. The dead one, who's legacy he passed everyday in the clubhouse because of the bike on display. The founder of Sons of Anarchy. And the live one. First 9. Current president of the Mother Charter. And he had no illusions about what people thought of him. Inside and outside the club. But mostly outside. No one hardly ever saw Jax. All they saw was SOA. Well, everyone except Tara. That was one of the things he had loved about her the most. She saw past the cut, straight to the man.

"Maybe? I'm not an idiot. Everyone looks at you and sees the MC. Just like everyone looks at me and sees Charming Church. Or according to my faith, everyone is supposed to look at me and see God. Quite frankly, I don't know which one is worse."

He laughed and leaned towards her, his expression asking her to explain that statement. Her eyes darted around her surroundings before she told him what she meant, "People suck. They're hypocritical. They're selective. But God is supposed to be all-forgiving and all-loving. I can't forgive everybody and everything. And God knows I can't love everybody. I'm human. That is one thing that I do not have in me. But that would be hypocritical. Picking who I will forgive and who I won't. Who I will love and who I wont, well that just seems judgmental and that goes directly against my faith."

"Damned if you do and damned if you don't."

"Exactly. Being raised by parents. Everything was black and white. No gray area. And if I started questioning, if I started even imagining a gray area. I was supposed to pray, pray for God to reveal the truth to me. The truth that my parents had already picked out. But what do you do if God doesn't answer?"

She looked at him as if she was expecting an answer. He hadn't thought about God much. He believed in what he could see, touch, and feel. He believed in family-blood or made, didn't matter. He believed in loyalty and love-he definitely believed in love. He choose who he forgave and hated those he couldn't and didn't-and he had no qualms about it.

"I don't know. I'm not exactly big on religion."

"No I imagine not."

"But I do think," he said quickly, almost interrupting her, "that God would understand if you choose not to forgive the person who…hurt you."

She pierced him with a look that was hard but then it softened. She was right, he was smarter than she thought. He knew what that forgiveness crap was about. Would she be a bad Christian if she couldn't forgive her rapists? Quite frankly he wanted to know what kind of God let something like that happen to someone who was such an obviously strong believer? If he allowed those things to happen to the people who loved him-then what about the unbelievers like himself? Men like him who rebelled against the law, who hurt people, who thought the rules of society didn't apply to him because by birth he was destined to challenge authority-by family he was a proponent of anarchy? If that was the case then he was well and truly screwed. And since he was going to hell anyway, he might as well enjoy the ride so to speak.

"I don't think it works that way," she sighed, stretching out on the grass, t-shirt rising up a bit to reveal pale skin and flash of color on her hip.

He smirked, "What's that darling?"

He pointed to her hip and she blushed again, "My roommate. I, um, lost a bet during a game of pool."

"Was getting inked a part of this bet?"

She nodded. And threw her arm across her face. Damn. She was turning out to be everything he didn't expect. From what he could see the tattoo ran up a good portion of her side, landing on some ribs. He knew it must've hurt. So that meant she could take some pain. For some reason, he tucked that tidbit of information into the back of his mind.

"Yeah. It was stupid. I was 21. People do stupid things at 21."

She was embarrassed. Cute. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling it down to the waistband of her jeans only to have it pop up again. She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat and he laughed. She pinned him with a look before the corners of her mouth tilted up and she laughed along with him.

"What is it?"

"Ballet shoes. Says I live to dance."

"You dance?"

He watched her eyes light up at the question. Oh yeah, this chick loved to dance.

"It was one of my majors in college. I wanted to be a ballerina but when I was fourteen I hurt my knee. Knew that was never going to happen. At most, I'd teach. That's why I double majored in anthropology. Gave me an excuse to dance. To travel. To study what I loved to do so much."

"I'm guessing your parents don't-."

"They'd kill me. They're not fond of," she pointed to his forearm. It was a tribute to his father, "Tattoos. I personally think it's an interesting art form but I think that's the anthropologist in me."

She laid back down on the ground, looking up at the sunlight filtering through the trees. He laid back against a tree. He wasn't expecting the conversation to go like this. He wasn't expecting to like anything more than her body. She was a rebel. And he liked it. But she was also conflicted. Trapped by the expectations of her family and her own doubts about her faith. It was interesting to watch it play out before him. He wondered if he could give up watching it all play out. He closed his eyes briefly only to have them flick open again at her quite statement.

"He was my professor. I've known him for six years. Ever since my Intro class freshman year. He wrote my recommendation letter for grad school. He's my on my PhD committee. I was in two of his classes last semester. It was after my last final. He held me up after everyone had left the room. Said he wanted to talk about this research project I'd been working on. I'm actually supposed to be in Thailand working on it right now. The whole situation begin to feel uncomfortable but he had never been anything but nice, professional, and appropriate so I ignored the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Ignored the feeling that something was wrong. Then he kissed me. I slapped him. Tried to leave. But he grabbed me."

A part of him wanted to interrupt her. Tell her he didn't want to hear this. His heartbeat was increasing. But some part of him, and he wasn't sure what part of him, knew she had to do this. Had to tell him exactly what happened. He was unconsciously scooting closer towards her reclining figure, only becoming aware of his moments when she lifted a hand for him to stop his movements.

"He threw me to the ground. Pinned my arms underneath me and pinned me with his body. Covered my mouth with one of his hands. I remember how hot he felt. And his eyes. They were so determined. And there was something frightening in them. He was driven by something. I don't know. Hate maybe. I had never seen him look like that before. When he was inside me, he pressed his forearm on my throat so I couldn't breathe. And once he started moving, it was surreal. I just gave up fighting. I just laid there. I know it was because I was in shock. But I still feel like a failure. Like I could've done something more. Instead, I just laid there and let it happen."

"That is not what happened. He took advantage of you. Of your trust. Of course you were in shock. Do not blame yourself for what he did to you."

What kind of sick fuck spent six years gaining someone's trust only to rape her? He watched a tear roll down her cheek before dropping off her face and splattering into the grass. He was glad her eyes were closed-otherwise she would see the rage rolling off his body. That bastard had better be happy he was in San Diego. If he had been in Charming-well, nobody rapes in Charming.

"What he did to me," she repeated, sitting up. Her eyes popped open and it was like being hit with spotlights, they were so green, so luminescent. He hadn't realized he had been sitting this close next to her. "I've never felt like a victim before Jax. And it doesn't sit well with me," she told him in a tone that could only be described as desperate.

Not knowing what else to do, he reached for her, albeit slowly and pulled her in for a hug. Like before, in the bathroom, and on his bike, she clung to his cut. She smelled like lavender and coffee he noted. When she pulled herself out of his embrace she wiped teardrops off his leather.

"You smell like grease and alcohol," she noted with a smile, "Is that a mechanic thing or a biker thing."

"Probably a little bit of both darlin'," he told her with a smile, reaching up to wipe a tear off her cheek and ending up cupping her cheek in his hand. She recognized the gesture that he adamantly denied and scooted backwards. The ring of his prepay cut through the tension. With a sigh he answered with a hardened, "Yeah."

Becca took another inch away from Jax and leaned her head on her propped up knees. She didn't know why she let him touch her like that. Why he was so easy to divulge such sensitive information to. She didn't understand it and she needed to. She was glad that his phone rang. It gave her time to examine her surroundings and the situation. She recalled riding down Main Street on the back of his bike. It would be a much needed miracle if no one recognized the fiery tail of her hair on his bike. Damn.

"That was Juice. Apparently it's not just an oil change. You've got a spark plug issue. We've got to order a part. Your car won't be fixed until tomorrow."

"Are you shit-. I mean, you're joking right?"

"Afraid not," eyes twinkling with laugher at mischief at the fact that she was ashamed to use profanity in front of him. Cute.

"So what do you want to do? I can take you back to the garage and you can call someone. I don't think we want to chance dropping you off at your house. Especially with heart attacks on the line," he joked, referring to their conversation last night.

"Nope. The garage is fine."

This time, on their ride back, Becca didn't cling to him as tight. He thought that was a good sign.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'd like to thank everyone for the positive response I've gotten. The story alerts, "favorit-ing" and everything-it's a great boost of confidence to know everyone is reading. Due to my last update I have received a few PM's regarding faith issues. I've decided to address certain sentiments. I am not anti-religious at all. Whatever you believe is totally up to you as an individual who inherited free will and the ability to make your own decisions at birth. However, Becca's faith is a central part of her character. And her questioning it, after going through something as traumatic as rape, is only natural. And her faith will continue to be questioned and tested as her relationship with Jax and the Sons develop. I do not know if I will ever have her completely abandon her Christianity-it's a possibility though- but I do know that her circumstances will cause her to change some of her point of views about certain things. Moving on to the story-enjoy.**

She told her mom that she was still a little sore from falling down the stairs. God she was shaping up to be such a liar. Had called Mary and told her she was going to have to come in for work late because she had a doctor's appointment and that her mom was going to pick her up and take her to get her car. Yesterday with Jax had left her in a mood. One of those moods where you were high on anxiety. She had been tempted to ask the very same question she had asked her dad when she was fourteen and ripped her ACL trying to pull a ballet move that had been to advanced for her. _Why does God let bad things happen_? Her father had told her that it wasn't God, that it was sin that had let bad things into the world. Bad things happened to good people because of sin. Well what had she done so bad that had warranted this? Her father had told her that bad things were arbitrary-they just happened. If God was so all-knowing and so all-powerful why was it that he couldn't control arbitrary and simply allow bad things to happen to decidedly bad people?

She was running late for her appointment. With a Dr. Kurtzman. In the Obstetrics and Gynecology department. She needed to do this. Knew it was in her best interest. But she wasn't sure if she could take anymore bad news. Or the shame and humiliation of a doctor's appointment. The elevator came to a ding and halt and she stepped off, only to run into a tall wall of muscle. Looking up, she saw him smirk-eyeing her sunglasses and baseball cap.

"Are you trying to be inconspicuous?"

"What floor is this?"

"Fifth."

Fuck. She had pushed the wrong button. This had to be a sign. That she could skip out on her appointment and wouldn't be worse for wear. So maybe she was exaggerating a bit. And apparently her attempt at trying to keep her identity anonymous while walking through the halls of St. Thomas had been a bad one. That was why she was a dancer. Not an actress.

"What are you doing here," she asked, stepping away from blocking the elevator. She removed her sunglasses and her cap. She pulled her hair out of the hair tie, oblivious to the look he wore as he watched her hair fall down around her face, a slight bounce adding to the ethereal composition. When she looked up at him again she was speculating on the expression that then passed over his face, as if he was debating telling her. She would be lying if she said she wasn't bothered by it. He knew things about her very few people did. But his life was his business. It wasn't as if she was going to tell him she was here to see a gynecologist. There were some things she did not have to talk about. And this was one of them.

"My ex-wife. She uh, overdosed."

He wasn't sure why he told her that. Obviously he wasn't sure about a lot of things when it came to Rebecca. Why he cared what she thought about Wendy's drug abuse. Why he was concerned about his reputation damaging hers if someone caught them talking. Why he wanted to keep his mother away from her. Why he was so willing to be the one she talked to. Being unsure of things wasn't good in his line of work. Being unsure of things often got you or someone else killed.

"In Charming," Becca asked, obviously surprised.

She choose to ignore the ex-wife part. She didn't know bikers married. Well, she was sure they weren't necessarily exempt from the practice but judging by some of the women who hung around the TM lot on a Friday night, she wasn't sure she saw the need or even how wives handled all that free skank lying around waiting, hoping, praying for a hook-up. She refused to believe that the twinge in her chest at his admission had anything to do with the term ex-wife being thrown about and decided it was because of the presence of drugs. She hadn't been in San Diego long enough to forget-she knew Charming wasn't drug free but wasn't it the Sons business to keep drugs out of Charming? It was why the town and the police department put up with them for so long. How the hell had a Sons wife come across drugs in that environment?

Jax saw the confusion on her face and knew what she was thinking. Truth was, he had known about Wendy's extracurricular activities when he had met her and then married her. He just wasn't sure he completely cared. Odd huh? Especially considering who he was talking to now. He would be lying if he said he didn't care at least a little bit. Another truth-he had married Wendy to get over Tara and the damage she had done when she bailed on him and everything they had.

No one really ever got over their first love. It was something that shaped a significant part of people. And his and Tara's story had been one of utter unacceptance. She couldn't accept that the MC was what made him. Pushed him to change. To leave the only life he had ever wanted and ever known. And he had tried to push her to become something she just wasn't-Old Lady material. Women who didn't challenge their positions and accepted the decisions of the club without question because that's just the way things were. It was a hard life. And she just hadn't been cut out for it. And clearly neither had Wendy. She had instead chosen to find comfort in a temporary high instead of him. But he couldn't blame her. He hadn't been totally available to comfort her. Looking back on it all, his failed relationship with Tara, his failed marriage to Wendy, maybe he was just bad at relationships and should stick to all the free pussy that being a Son had to offer. But he couldn't deny that having a woman to come home to, to alleviate the burden and stress of his role within the club was a damn beautiful thing.

"Why are you here," he asked abruptly changing the subject.

Becca paused. Considered his not to subtle move at not wanting to discuss it even further. The ex-wife or the drugs, she wasn't completely sure which he was trying to avoid. Just because she had shared personal details with him didn't mean he was obligated to do the same. And as far as the Sons role in keeping drugs out of Charming she wasn't entirely sure she wanted him to divulge on that topic.

"Doctor's appointment," she told him, popping the t.

He nodded, looking both ways, before stepping closer. He noticed that this time she didn't flinch or look away from him. He leaned in a bit before whispering to her if she was alright. She sighed. He could guess why she was here. And if that was the one thing that she didn't want to tell him about that was fine with him. He understood. Some things, you just needed to keep to yourself. She told him she was fine. He wasn't sure if he believed her. Careful of their surroundings, he put a hand on her arm, slowly caressing the pale freckled skin exposed by the cream colored peasant blouse she wore.

"Okay. Well just a heads up-my mom asked about you," he told her with a smirk. She rolled her head on her neck and then rolled her eyes. It shouldn't have been amusing. Not with the knack his mother had for making someone's life miserable. But he had to admit, Becca's response wasn't what he had been expecting. At the least, mild panic. But she took it look like a pro.

"Let me guess. She thinks we're-."

"Fucking," he chuckled. She gave him a light playful shove. And he laughed, drawing the eyes of a few nurses on the floor. She reached up and tousled her hair, biting her lower lip. The look was undoubtedly sexy and he doubted she knew it. He shuffled, willing his body not to betray him.

"Well. She's not the only one. Yesterday when my mom picked me up after we got back to TM, we made a pit stop at the grocery store. Guess who was there?"

He quirked his eyebrows at her. He could guess. He knew he should've popped that prick one good in the mouth at the gas station. She nodded, confirming his suspicions. He let out a long curse before asking her what the bastard said.

"Nothing. My mom was there. But that's the point. He doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to let that slide."

"You have any problems-."

"You worry about your mother. I'll worry about Will. Now, I'm late for my appointment-which is on the fourth floor not the fifth. My mom's going to bring me by to pick my car up after I leave here."

"Cool," he told her, watching her step back onto the elevator. They didn't wave. Didn't say goodbye. No see you later. Just a smile and shake of their heads. Jax turned the corner and started towards another elevator going down to the lobby. He bumped into a brunette on her way to the elevators. He said excuse me, not bothering to look down at her. The brunette was in a pair of scrubs, holding a file and a coke she had gotten from the fifth floor vending machine. She was on her way back up to the fourth floor for her next appointment. If he had bothered to look at her he would've noticed the name tag, clipped to the breast pocket of her shirt. Kelly Brooks, formerly Davidson. If he had bothered to look at her he would've noticed the all too innocent smile she was wearing as she looked down at the name on the manila folder. Rebecca Williamson.

Back at the garage, Jax buried himself into his work. He knew everyone assumed it was because of this morning's events with Wendy. Damn he had to get that chick out of his house. He could not wait to finally be divorced. And that was partially why he was so quiet. But burying himself in work kept him from dwelling on the feeling that there was a storm brewing. And as if fate was trying to confirm it himself, his mother's voice snapped him out of his labor.

"So. Clay tells me you disappeared with that redhead for a while yesterday afternoon," she informed him, kicking his feet that were dangling from underneath a new Volvo. _Fuck_. He rolled out from underneath the car, reaching in his pocket to pull out a bandana, wiping the grease off his hands.

"So what exactly is it you want to me ask me ma?"

No point bullshitting around. He knew yesterday that these type of questions were coming. And he had already decided what his answer was going to be. He took Becca to the streams. That's it. Nothing more. Nothing less. She trusted him. He wasn't sure why but he wasn't going to break that, not after everything that had happened to her. He had to admit though, chick was a strong bitch. Gemma however was not amused by her son's reply to her question-which hadn't been a reply at all, merely another question. Crossing her arms over her chest at her son's tone, she did the Gemma thing and asked, "Are you tappin' that?"

"If he's not-he's an idiot," Juice said from across the room with a smile only to be met with a threatening look from the MC matriarch and stuttered a fear filled apology.

"Whether I am or I'm not. Don't worry about it," he said shoving past her. Knowing that it was pretty much pointless. She always worried. It's what she did, who she was. She needed to worry so she could have all of her bases covered. He conceded that his reputation wasn't helping the situation or Becca's reputation for that matter.

"Don't worry about it," Gemma snapped, "I don't need some holier than thou hypocritical righteous Jesus freak bitch on your dick."

"Noted ma," he told her with a kiss on her cheek, barely refraining from telling her that Becca was none of those things and not to call her a bitch because then it would've been _How do you know she's not_ _holier than thou and hypocritical and a righteous Jesus freak _and _Why should you care what I call her Jackson_? But Gemma's thoughts were not totally absorbed by the thought of her son fucking Pastor Williamson's kids. She was remembering the bruises she had seen on Becca's face her first day back in town. The bruises Jax didn't know she knew about. She knew the thing her son had for rescuing damsels in distress. He definitely had a what she liked to call, "knight in tarnished armor" syndrome. And she didn't care what he said, there's only one reason Jax would disappear with a chick for two hours. Either it was pussy or conversation. And she didn't know which was worse. Especially not with the preacher's daughter. They took enough heat from that sanctimonious bastard without adding the VP seducing his daughter into the mix. Considering the warehouse blow-up two days ago, things were on a tight leash right now as far as the town was concerned.

"Jax-I'm serious."

"Ma. I promise you-."

"Don't promise. If you break it we're going to have problems. And we all know how difficult it is for you to keep it in your pants."

He couldn't help but smile at her answer. She was right. He had a womanizing way about him. He wasn't ashamed to admit it. But womanizing Becca had quickly turned into wanting her to be able to talk to someone, he still wasn't sure how he felt about it being him. But he knew he had put himself in that particular role when he had took her out to the streams yesterday. He smiled remembering her telling him that he was smarter than she thought he would be. He was a little shocked about how easy she found him to read. Her little comment about people not seeing him-just the club-had hit a little too close to a sensitive bit of his psyche. The part that Tara had tried and failed to unlock. And Becca, after a period of twenty-four hours had latched onto it without much difficulty. He shook his head, knowing that he was thinking about a certain redhead too much to be denying what his mother and everyone on the TM lot was accusing him of.

Gemma considered the fact that maybe it was nothing, yeah she considered it for half a second. She was wary. She didn't trust outsiders. Especially not this one. She had already put up with one bitch who tried and failed to change her son. She didn't need another one. With her heart condition, she knew she shouldn't be worrying. But what kind of mother would she be if she didn't. And as if the universe was trying for a heart attack in retribution for past sins committed, an atrocious outdated green Toyota pulled into the lot. And out stepped the object of this conversation.

She had to admit she could see where her son was interested. She was nice to look at. Long legs put on display in a pair of summertime denim cutoffs and cowboy boots. Eyes she knew to be big and green behind a pair of aviators. She eyed her son. He was trying his damned best not to look at her, unlike the other men on the lot. She swore, men forgot to think at the sight of a hot piece of ass. It was the prospect who made his way towards the girl, handing her a clipboard, and a pen. She signed and took her keys. Gemma had to give her props, little bitch didn't even glance in her son's direction.

XXXXXXXREAPERXXXXXXX

Becca made her way through the back entrance of Lumpy's, slipping out of her boots into a pair of comfortable flip-flops. No way could she do her job in those things. They were cute. And that was all they were meant for. Not actual work. Today was shaping up to be a good day. She had her car back. She might not have actually made it in to her doctor's appointment. The sight of Kelly Brooks entering the waiting room had pretty much been a sign that it was a bad idea. She could be accused of reading into things too much but she knew-even after six years-that where that bitch was, trouble and a chick fight was sure to follow. She just wasn't in the mood. Not to put up with perfect Kelly Brooks. Perfect hair. Perfect smile. Perfect nails sporting a wedding band. Perfect little life with 2.5 kids and a husband who worked over in Lodi. Her mother had regaled her over Kelly Brooks life as the wife of one of the church's deacons over the years. She had to believe that her mother wasn't blind to the fact that Kelly had the temperament of a viper-ready to strike out at any and everything when she saw fit.

She slipped into her apron and walked towards the front, spotting David Hale sitting at one of her tables solo. She eyed his uniform. He was a deputy now? She couldn't imagine how he handled that. He had always been straight laced-surprising enough considering who his family was. And everyone knew that Charming PD was nothing but a formality and punch line to a bad joke. The only real law and authority of this town were, well, outlaws.

"Hey David, how's it going?"

He looked up from the menu, like he didn't know what was on it. It had not changed in the years Lumpy's had been open.

"Hey Rebecca. Heard you were back but your father told me you were going to be in China or something," he told her with a smile. Yep, friendly neighborhood Deputy.

"Actually it was Thailand. And there was a slight change of plans. I missed home. Decided to visit for the summer." Lie. Should it bother her that it didn't feel wrong lying to law enforcement? She had nothing against David Hale. Honestly she didn't. He was a member of her church. Dedicated to his job. Polite. Friendly. Amiable. But he just didn't have the charm about him that made her willing to extend their exchanges past polite pleasantries. "So, what can I get you?"

"Um I'll have the country fried steak. Double mashed potatoes and a coke."

"Alright. I'll be right back with the coke. By the way, Mary's made some cobbler today for dessert. It's positively sinful it's so good."

Slapping the slip of paper with his order on it down onto the counter, she turned the corner towards the drink machine only to have her arm grabbed and be yanked into the small narrow hallway between the kitchen and the bathroom. Immediately her elbow went up and she was met with a loud cry of pain. She spun around to face Mary.

"Oh shit-I mean, sorry Mary," she amended because of the look on the woman's face. She didn't often use profanity around her. Well anybody really, "I didn't know it was you. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," she said holding her nose and walking towards the bathroom. Becca winced when she noticed blood seeping between Mary's fingers and reached for some paper towels once the bathroom door closed, soaking them with water from the sink, and handing them to the older woman.

"I'm sorry. I didn't-."

"Don't worry about it. I probably would've done the same thing if someone grabbed me and pulled me into a hallway," she answered, trying to lighten the mood.

Mary saw Becca's attempt at a smile. This just made it harder to do what she had to do. After seeing Becca on Jax Teller's motorcycle yesterday afternoon, she knew this was a conversation that had to be had. She doubted Becca's parents knew. And there was a small voice that reminded her that Becca was an adult and her parents didn't need to know everything. But this situation was different and was ripe for a little bit of friendly intervention. Especially after her daughter Samantha, who worked as a nurse at St. Thomas with Kelly Brooks, had called and told her that Becca had been at the hospital today. Engaged in conversation that appeared to be of an intimate nature with the same outlaw. And failed to show up for her doctor's appointment today. Samantha couldn't say what she had been to the doctor for-that would've been a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality. But she did know that her daughter was a nurse in the Obstetrics and Gynecology department. You didn't need to be a high school graduate to put two and two together. And by now, she was sure Kelly Brooks had told more than just her daughter. The woman was a gossip, spiteful, and just plain mean. But she had no reason to make this up. And if Mary hadn't seen for herself yesterday what she had seen and immediately recognized just who that man was toting around down Main Street she wouldn't have believed it.

"Look. I wanted to talk to you about yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"About seeing you on the back of Jax Teller's bike. What's going on Becca?"

_Oh shit_. Her mother hadn't said anything to her this morning. And she wasn't getting odd judgmental looks so she had just assumed that nobody had recognized her. After all she wasn't the only redhead in this town. The fact that Mary had immediately picked out the fact that it was in fact her, only spoke to how observant she was.

"Nothing Mary. I dropped my car off at Teller-Morrow to get worked on. He took me back home is all."

Damn she was getting a bit too comfortable with this whole lying thing. Seemed like the only person she could tell the truth to was an individual who made a career out of being dishonest. Oh the irony of it all.

"Really?"

"Yeah really. I wouldn't lie to you."

Mary closed her eyes and sighed before continuing, "I find that hard to believe. Especially since you were headed in the opposite direction of your house. And that when I called your mom last night she told me that she picked you up at Teller Morrow to take you home about two hours after I saw you with him. And that Sammie just called saying that you were at the hospital with him and you missed your doctor's appointment."

Becca crossed her arms over her chest. Immediately defensive. For fucks sake she was an adult. She could go wherever she wanted with whoever she wanted. And she thought that she had made it clear to Mary that she didn't need her policing her behaviors. She felt her face warm, her temper spiking with the heat that rushed through her and ended with a full body blush.

"Really Mary, you might want to rethink your career choice. You might do Charming PD some actual good," she snapped.

"I'm just worried about you sweetheart. Becca girl this isn't like you. Don't you know the type of women who hang around those boys? I don't want to see you hurt."

Becca almost blurted out _Too late_. But she composed herself. Took a deep breath before stepping in closer and opening her mouth to speak on a hiss, "Look Mary. I love you. But don't think for a second that my love for you is going to make me feel any better about this conversation. You dragged me in the bathroom to warn me about who I hang out with? Heads up, just like everybody else in this damn town I know who and what the Sons are. I'm not fooled. What I do with Jax Teller is none of your goddamn business," she spat out. And with that said turned on her heel and pushed the bathroom door open. After she calmed down she would realize that maybe she hadn't handled that conversation as well as she could have.


	7. Chapter 6

Becca knew that her blow up on Mary yesterday was only going to come back and bite her in the ass. It had shaken her, the outburst. She had told Jax not to be mistaken, that it was in her-that feistiness-but she hadn't expected it to come out in full force. If she was going to be real with herself she would fess up that the reason behind it had less to do with Mary's overstepping though legitimate concern for her new acquaintances but more of being talked to like she was a gullible sixteen-year-old girl who had gotten caught sneaking back in after being out with the local bad boy she was forbidden to see. First of all she wasn't sixteen anymore.

She was an adult, capable of making her own decisions. Something she had been doing for a while now without any help. And second of all, she'd hardly call riding down Main Street sneaking. She had nothing to hide. Seriously, the hypocrisy of these people. It was okay to laugh and talk with the Sons. To serve them dinner. To cover for what they knew to be shady activity if it kept things the way they were. But as soon as one of them got out of place and actually became friends with a member of this backwards town, it was handled as if someone was opening Pandora's Box and dumping all manners of evil the world had to offer. But Becca wasn't dumping anything. If Mary didn't want to see her talking to Jax then she didn't have to look because as far as she was concerned, he was the only person right now she could talk to without wondering and being afraid that they knew. That they would see her differently. That's why he was safe territory. He hadn't seen her any way at all. Herself as she was now was the only way he knew her. Her rape couldn't change his opinion of her because he hadn't one before.

But despite her new outward shining confidence she had to admit she was on pins and needles wondering how long her parents would find out. Yeah she was an adult and all that shit but a parent's disappointment and anger could cut through the most seasoned grown up. She wasn't an idiot. If Mary knew, if Sammie knew, it was only a matter of time before someone else was going to find out. And Jax himself had told her that his mother had suspicions regarding their relationship. She quickly checked herself. There was no relationship. His mother simply seemed to think that they were in fact banging. And so did Mary for that matter. And probably Sammie. And actually there was no simplicity about any of it.

To be honest the thought had only crossed her mind once. It was when he had hugged her. And she had smelt that clean, strong masculine scent of grease and alcohol. Had felt and heard the shifting of worn supple leather as she held onto him. It had been a fleeting thought. But she was a woman. And even considering her circumstances, even considering that it had only been a week since it happened, her body would have been an idiot to ignore the fact that he could incite some small spark of desire in just about any woman.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she wondered what she was going to do about Mary. Even if she had asserted her independence she had a feeling that the woman who had known her all of her life wasn't biting and was having a hard of time as her parents were of letting their baby girl go. She was pretty sure that the time would never come. Even when she had her own family to think about, to care for. They would still see that same little girl who cried when Aaron had stole her peanut butter jelly sandwich at a church picnic.

She could step up and be the adult she claimed to be and tell her mother the truth. The truth about everything. And just say that he was there, no not there but available. Available when she was afraid that everyone else would judge her, coddle her, and treat her like a victim. And she wasn't. She wasn't a victim. At least she was determined not to be. She was a survivor. She would never be able to get over it. Not completely. But she would deal with it. And she would survive. And she was damn well going to make sure she was happy. She sighed and looked down at the grocery list her mother had made her.

Tomorrow was Sunday. And her mother had sent her out to pick up everything she needed to make Sunday dinner. Unfortunately, well not unfortunately more along the lines she preferred if it wasn't so that Mary and Sammie were invited. They had been attending Sunday dinners at the Williamson household ever since Mary's husband had died about three years back. And then Kelly Brooks was coming. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Kelly. With her husband and the gorgeous kids her mother was always going on and on about. Then her brother Mark, his wife Stacy, Elizabeth and Leah. She was tempted to pull in an extra shift to avoid seeing all these people. However, considering the guest list she was almost positive that wasn't the best decision to make. She shook her head, she was on damage control. There was no denying it. She was attending for the sole purpose to make sure Mary and Sammie didn't spill the beans at a family dinner. Wow, some level headed independent adult she was.

It was the strategizing she was doing in her head that kept her from watching where she was going, the clanging of her cart bumping into another one that startled her from battle plans. Maybe that was an exaggeration. She looked up, apology on her lips only to be stopped by the sight of Gemma Morrow. As if this week couldn't get any more stressful.

"Sorry," she said, quickly trying to compose herself by swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I guess you weren't kidding. About being clumsy and uncoordinated. Although I find it a bit hard to believe if you can stay on the back of a bike for a trip out to the streams with my son and all."

"Yeah, well, the clumsiness it um…comes and goes," she smirked.

Gemma raised an eyebrow and maneuvered her cart around Becca's, pushing it just enough up the aisle so that she was standing close to Becca, so it looked like they were just passing each other up and down the grocery aisle. Becca would be lying to herself if she didn't find the older woman intimidating. It was in her eyes, the fierceness, the need to protect her family. But Becca wasn't a threat-far from it.

"My son says you're not-."

"We're not."

"Yet," she asked, skepticism and a challenge dripping from her tone.

Becca turned to face her, hand on her hip. She knew Gemma wasn't the type of woman to lay out all her cards on the table at once. She would return the favor and tuck a couple of her own up her sleeves.

"If you're implying that I've got some kind of wily feminine designs on your son, you'd be wrong. And quite frankly, I don't feel I owe you an explanation of my behavior. And neither does he. He's thirty years old remember," she told the matriarch with a quick shove of her cart and a smirk, ignoring the fact that her stomach felt as if it had been turned inside and out, picking up a bottle of jalapenos and walking out of the aisle, around the corner to the check-out line.

Gemma looked to the spot where Becca had been standing and the corner to which she was disappearing around and smiled. Bitch had balls. Who would've thought that Ellen Williamson's daughter, a woman who had in her own time ran away from Gemma's conversational implications, had enough of a backbone to tell her to fuck off and that she was being an overbearing mother and then walk away? Maybe hypocritical self-righteous holier than thou Jesus freak bitch the redhead was not.

She herself made her way to the check out line only to spot Donna having to put things back. Shit, if only that woman wasn't so damned stubborn. She understood it though. Your man goes away for a time, leaves you with kids to take care of, and you become bitter. But unlike Donna, Gemma knew that SAMCRO was the only thing Opie had ever really known. This job at the lumber mill wasn't going to last. Especially if she couldn't even buy food. A man could only take so much before he did whatever was necessary to feed his family-straight and narrow or illegal. She eyed the few things Donna had put back, intent to take care of it herself and show her that the club was the family she had. But someone beat her to the punch. Ballsy bitch, Christian charity be damned.

Becca didn't think of it as Christian charity. Well, not entirely. She knew Donna Winston had two kids and that her husband had just got home from doing a five-year stint. Hell, everyone knew. And it made her sick to her stomach when she saw all the condescending and pitiful looks the woman was getting after she had been told her check had bounced again. Why hadn't some of these good Christian people stepped up and done the right thing? She picked up the left behind groceries without any hesitation and made a brisk exit out the store, calling out the other woman's name.

"Hey," she whispered. Wasn't sure exactly what to say. _I picked this up when I saw you couldn't pay for it_? That just seemed rude.

"Thanks. You uh, didn't have to-."

"Don't worry about it. Everyone needs a bit of…help, every now and then."

"Seems like now and then is coming by a bit more frequent these days," she told her on a huff before looking away quickly, "Sorry about that. And thanks by the way."

"You're welcome," Becca said, pushing her own full cart away from Donna's truck to the other side of the parking lot where her car was parked.

She could practically feel the eyes pinned to her back. She didn't even turn around before asking Gemma what the issue was. She just kept loading the backseat of her car full of groceries, feeling the odd tightening of her chest.

"You didn't have to do that. Donna doesn't need charity. She's got us."

"Really? That's how this whole thing works? SAMCRO takes care of its own? And besides it wasn't charity. Honestly, if this had happened a month ago I'm not sure I even would have done it."

Gemma watched the girl take a deep breath and then another, pushing her hair off her face before slamming the car door shut. She was tense and agitated and racked with something else, guilt, uncertainty. What the hell was going on here?

"Look I don't know what your agenda is. But I think I kind of like you. So I'm telling you this once," she paused and held a finger up for emphasis, "Jax is in a strange place right now and he doesn't need you clouding his head with whatever it is that's gotten you on edge or whoever it was that beat the shit out of you in San Diego," she watched Becca carefully as the girl's expression changed for a brief second, unknowingly confirming her suspicion , "I'm not an idiot. Fell down my ass. I recognize a beat down when I see one." She watched Becca tense and lean against the trunk of her car with her back facing her. She frowned, her back was heaving like she was taking deep breaths in quick, rapid succession. Walking around so that she could face the woman she saw those big green eyes of her widen, blinking rapidly, hands trembling, and she was breathing really fast.

"Oh shit. You okay?"

She didn't know. She was trying to get control of her breathing. Her throat felt dry and her tongue felt heavy as she tried to swallow and fail. She reached a hand out to stabilize herself but her hand missed the warm heat of the metal of her car and Gemma caught her instead, Becca's body slumping against her. She wasn't sure what was happening but this was broad daylight in the parking lot. She heard Gemma tell her to calm down and relax, to count to ten, and try to take deep breaths.

She was panicking. Gemma recognized the signs. Had seen maybe once or twice too many times in her life career as the Old Lady to both Presidents of the Mother Charter. But just as soon as the anxiety attack had come over her it was gone again. Becca licked her lips, her cheeks flushed before looking up at Gemma and muttering an almost incomprehensible thanks. She turned out of the other woman's grasp but Gemma held tight to Becca's shoulders, looking her in the eyes, "You two really aren't fucking are you?" It was the look in her eyes when she had whispered that thank you that had Gemma convinced. Becca's beaten face and a panic attack automatically led to the conclusion that it wasn't the summertime that had driven Becca from school in San Diego but something and someone. And she had a sinking feeling that her son might know about it. If they weren't fucking then they had been sitting at the streams talking for hours. And if it warranted the streams then it must've have been something deep, personal, and private.

"I already told you that."

Climbing into bed that night, Gemma told her husband that something was up with Jax. She knew it. Everyone knew it. It was obvious. But she knew what Clay was going to say. He was going to tell her not to worry. That nothing was wrong at all. That his VP's head was exactly where it should be. She felt him sit up in bed and turn to face her.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's just-he's been asking me questions. About JT. About the club. And you know how I thought he was fucking that Becca Williamson-."

"Did he say he was fucking her," Clay asked, skepticism in his voice. Not that he doubted that there was something sexual going on between the two. Whenever a woman was around his step-son something sexual was bound to go down. It was just the way he was built. But he wanted the truth before his wife got into unnecessary worrying. And worrying about who Jax was sticking his dick into was unnecessary. There were plenty of women in this town who had shared lusty looks with any member of the Sons. And some who had shared more than that. Preacher's kid or not-a good lay was just that, a good lay.

"Well I know I said he wasn't. But c'mon did you really think they were talking at the streams?"

"It's a possibility. They were gone for a few hours," he said on a smirk. He knew she was getting agitated. Stubborn and overbearing, two characteristics that made Gemma, Gemma. His smirk turned into a full fledged smile when she snorted.

"Oh shut up," she told him, slapping his shoulder playfully, "but it turns out the possibility is a definite. I saw her today, Becca, while I was doing a bit of grocery shopping. Those two are definitely talking. I'm just not sure about what-."

"Does it matter? I doubt he's talking to her about club business. Or his father or whatever the hell it is you're worried about. His head is exactly where it needs to be."

"Could you stop interrupting me," she asked pinning him with a look that spoke of spousal positioning, "Today in the parking lot, she had a panic attack. You remember the bruises I told you she had?"

"You think Jax knows about it," he deduced.

"He knows something. Why don't you just find out what?"

Clay sighed. He had told his wife about Jax's little disappearing act but had failed to tell her that when he had seen the two of them together last, it had been after Becca had cried a face full of tears. There was clearly something going on between them. For he knew Jax didn't suffer a weeping bitch lightly. When Gemma had told him about Becca arriving in Charming sporting a face full of bruises the wheels in his head had begun to turn automatically. And now the panic attack? Oh yeah, Jax knew something about that preacher's daughter. Something that had her in tears and warranted a trip to the streams. The question was jus what secret were the two of them holding and was it going to blow back on his club?

The next morning the residents of Charming woke up to a bright sunny summer day. Nothing in the air hinted at yesterday's display of tension in a little small diner over a tattooed blonde ex-wife between the Sons and the newly released convict Ernest Darby. A fellow fresh out of Chino, sporting some new white hate ink he wore, some would say, proudly on display in well worn wife beaters-as if that was all he had in his wardrobe. Nothing hinted at the fact that anybody knew Pastor Williamson's daughter was cozying up to criminals. First Jax Teller, his mother, and the wife of the newly released convict-Donna Winston.

If Kelly Brooks wasn't biding her time, it would have only served to further the gossip concerning a certain redhead waitress and blond outlaw biker. But the brunette had been called a viper once or twice in her time. And like any good snake she was just waiting for the perfect time to strike. Telling Sammie had been a tactical move. When Sammie told Mary, Mary had of course confronted the girl who was pretty much her other daughter. And even though Mary had given her own daughter instructions not to share any of their conversations with her mother, Sammie was easy to persuade over a glass of wine. To think that little Becca had told Mary to fuck off. Maybe the bitch had grown a backbone in San Diego. The added, _whatever I do with Jax Teller is between me and Jax _had been an interesting and entertaining piece of information she made note of. Just a little more venom for when she got ready to, you know, strike.

Standing in Becca's mother kitchen in a stunning pale pink sleeveless dress with a bedazzled collar, chocolate brown hair curling over her shoulders, she unwrapped a green bean casserole, she looked like the sweet deacon's wife she was pretending to be. Judging by the woman in the floral print pencil skirt who was dragging her feet, instead of helping her mother like Ellen had asked three times ago, she also knew that Kelly was pretending . It wasn't like she had anything against Rebecca. She didn't. As her mother once told her, some individuals were just born inferior. And Kelly, well she had been born just plain mean. And who was she to argue with her mother?

When Will James had confessed that Becca had went home with Jax Teller while she was supposed to be out on a date with him, she had to admit she didn't believe it. Even in high school, in the brief time they had dated, Will had been known to stretch the truth a bit. And who would've thought that ugly unassertive Becca Williamson had attracted the attention of a fine specimen like Jax. She bit the inside of her cheek at the thought, a pulsating sensation beginning to form at the bottom of her stomach and pull between her legs. She was married, not oblivious. In her marriage to Jacob she had indulged in a few extracurricular indiscretions but the thought of a Son. Well she saw the thrill that led those skanks to the Teller-Morrow lot every Friday night.

But then she had seen the two of them with her own eyes. Imagine her surprise when the curvy redhead had turned out to be none other than Becca Williamson. It was like puberty had finally caught up with Becca, who in high school had been skinny and pale, now she had a body that even she could and would admit attracted the sinful. And all that shiny wavy red hair that feel down her back definitely added to the appeal. She had stayed behind the corner, watching their interaction. Seeing the way he watched her, the way he totally ignored any rules concerning personal space, the caress of his hand on her arm, her looking up at him all innocent and wide eyed and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the playful push she had given him. They were obviously comfortable with each other, a little bit too comfortable to just be polite strangers or only friendly neighbors. There was something in their body language that spoke beyond chemistry and went straight to intimacy.

When Becca's name had popped up in their system for a regular check-up, she had automatically been intrigued. Why would the Virgin Mary need an annual? Unless something was wrong or unless she was getting laid. But she hadn't even been back in town long enough to strike up any kind of relationship with Jax. Then again people do change in six years. Maybe it hadn't taken long. He had that charming look about him, like he could get a girl out of her pants in ten seconds flat. She wasn't as forgiving as some people. There was no way in hell those two shared any sort of chemistry and some form of intimacy without banging. That was simply the matter of it all.

Finally, Becca approached the kitchen countertop. Her hair was pulled into a messy side bun. The expression on her face was grim as compared to Kelly's own smile. Becca rolled her eyes, "What do you need help with mom?"

"Well," her mother said finishing the minute details of the apple pie," Kelly and Sammie have done most of everything. Why don't you get the silverware out?"

She saw Kelly biting her lip to keep from snickering. Her mother wanted to delegate her things like getting out the silverware? Fine. She wasn't apt to share the kitchen with Kelly and Sammie anyway.

"Okay," she answered in a peppy tone, deciding that it was best to fake as if she was okay with this situation. She wasn't. Unlike her mother she was not fooled. She turned towards the dining room to get out the special occasion Sunday dinner silverware. She sighed when Kelly followed her. She should've ignored her presence but the masochist in her just had to turn around to face the woman who had been the bane of her existence since she had been eleven years old, "What?"

"Your father had a great sermon today. Blessed is the man that walks not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of the scornful? But then again, maybe he was just preaching to the choir," Kelly said, watching Becca continue what she was doing. Okay, if she was going to ignore her, "You missed your doctor's appointment. Are you going to call and reschedule?"

Becca straightened. Stiffened. Had Sammie told Kelly too? Or did she work at St. Thomas as well? What had she done to receive such a spit in the face? Seriously, whose shoes had she stepped on? First Mary. Now this bitch. She moved to the next drawer to pull out the forks, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I work at St. Thomas. Just thought you might want to reschedule."

She slammed the drawer shut, moving to the next one to get the knives out. But she only had two hands and Kelly-sensing the opportunity to grate her already fragile nerves-offered to help, slowly plucking out the polished knives from the drawer, carefully counting each one to make sure she had enough for everyone.

"Let me guess. It was you who told Sammie. Who undoubtedly told her mother."

"Putting that PhD to good use I see."

"What's your deal Kelly? What do you want," Becca snapped.

What had she ever done to Kelly Davidson-now Brooks-that warranted this bitch the need to make her life as difficult as she felt was necessary? Middle school. High school. And now. She knew what she was doing. Manipulating the situation. Playing games with peoples friendships and lives. It was pretty despicable. How was everyone else blind to this woman's deceitfulness?

"I don't want anything Becca. I just like to have a good time."

"A good time," Becca asked, frowning, stepping closer and whispering, "Gossiping and playing with people is your idea of a good time? Why don't I just join in on the game, rip your wagging tongue from your mouth and have myself a good laugh? I am not afraid of you."

"Really? Because I seem to remember you walking away from me with your tail tucked between your legs every single time," she whispered back, still smiling. Bringing up the memories of all those gym class locker room confrontations where Becca had held back her anger for the sake of not only to have everything twisted by Kelly and just end up embarrassing her parents. Besides, Kelly Brooks wasn't even worthy of a punch. But she had to admit she had the desire to stoop down to this bitch's level and pop her one good.

"You think I walked away because I was scared? Wow, you're pathetic. You're nothing but a pathetic slut, too wrapped up in that demented little world you live in to actually give a fuck about anybody else. You want to push me? Fine. But when I call the Human Resources Department over at St. Thomas and make them aware how you've been breaking doctor-patient confidentiality and telling my boss about private medical information we'll see who's scared."

"Wow, someone's brave now that she's fucking a certain blond biker."

Oh she had enough of these accusations to last her a lifetime. If it was possible she moved closer to Kelly. Nose for nose.

"Listen to me bitch. You want to raise hell go ahead? But be warned that I'll send you there right along with me."

Kelly leaned back and examined Becca's face. The vein in the center of her forehead was throbbing and her cheeks were red. Her body was racked with tension and she knew then that the woman was holding back. That she was actually capable of delivering her threat. She chuckled and side stepped the fuming redhead to carry the knives into the kitchen and whispered, "Oh my-what an outlaw we are."

Becca sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, disheveling the messy do more. Oh and she had thought that this week couldn't have gotten any more shitty. First Mary and that God awful confrontation, then she had been removed from her usual serving area. Then seeing Jax in the diner with his fellow Sons. And she had tried to be unlike every other nose person in the room when Ernest Darby had been meeting with Clay Morrow and Jax had reached across the table and jerked some guy by his collar. It had almost been surreal, to see him like that. _See him like that_?

What was she thinking-she was acting like she knew the man. She didn't. Didn't know much about him. Except that he was easy to talk to, smart, reasonable, comforting in some strange way, vulnerable, apparently a little hot-headed, trustworthy-but then again who was he going to tell about her being raped?-non-judgmental, and contemplative she thought considering that he said he went to the streams to think. She knew he was a complicated man, unreligious, with a junkie ex-wife. She didn't know what it meant to be analyzing the qualities of Jax Teller-most of them good-and it bothered her.

And then to add her panic attack in front of Gemma on top of it all. Something that had been humiliating in its own right. Plus Gemma was smart. So smart that she hadn't bought the klutz story and realized that Jax knew something about why she was having a breakdown in the grocery store parking lot. And now this. Kelly Brooks was on her ass. Damn. It was when shit storms like this brewed that she doubted if there was a God.


	8. Chapter 7

Decked out in a tribal print chocolate and cream skirt tied in a knot at the hip, a white v-neck t-shirt, and her trusty flip-flops, Becca allowed herself to be pulled by her two small nieces into the gates of Fun Town. She smiled. Everyone loved a carnival. And as if to prove her point, even her father had joined along in the family outing. Despite everything that had went down at Sunday dinner a few days ago and even afterwards when her mother had accused her of holding insignificant high school grudges, the past few days had been a breeze. Life was finally slowing down and it gave her time to think. To figure things out.

One of the things she had figured out was that she was going to take a break from school. After the past semester she had been awarded her Master's anyway, she only had four more years to go until she got her PhD. A semester break would do her good, give her time to think about how she was going to handle it all. Because like it or not, unless she filed a complaint and a police report he would still be there. She could always transfer. But she loved San Diego. Loved UCSD. She'd made a home there. In her tiny little studio apartment full of color and vibrancy. She didn't want to leave. And she wasn't going to be run out of school by him either. Because if she did, he won. And she'd lost too much to ever let him win.

"Auntie B, can we please, please go on the that ride," Elizabeth yelled, pointing to a child friendly ride, toothy smile warming Becca's heart almost instantly.

"Of course we can Lizzie. And then we can get some cotton candy for your sister," she turned her head and looked over at her brother, smiling and rolling her eyes just as the older of the sisters, that being Lizzie, pulled her in the direction of the a tilt-a-whirl.

Ellen watched little Leah climb into Rebecca's lap, thumb in her mouth. Her parents had yet to break her of the habit. It was a beautiful picture, Rebecca locked into one of the seats with Leah on her lap and Elizabeth looking around bright eyed and bushy tailed. She smiled. She knew Rebecca would make a great mother. She just wondered why her own daughter didn't seem to think so. Why she was avoiding it. She wasn't getting any younger. And she didn't want to be thirty just starting a family. Or at least that's what Ellen tried to convince her. But Rebecca just rolled her eyes and said that she had two adorable curly blonde haired nieces to dote on.

She had been fine with it. Been fine with her daughter going to school in San Diego. She thought she'd decide to do something bankable like teach, meet a nice young man there, and move back close to home. Marry and give her some grandchildren to coddle. But instead she had chosen anthropology-something she herself hadn't even heard of until Rebecca had explained it to her almost six years ago-and dance. She sighed at the thought. When Rebecca was fourteen she had injured her knee, ending any chance at a professional dance career right there. Not that she'd been entirely supportive of that dream either. She just wanted what was best for her. Financial stability, a man who loved her, and children to carry on her memory. Was it too much to ask for? Her own mother had told her when Rebecca had been born that she was going to be the one of her children who thought big, dreamed bigger, and lived hard enough to inspire a legacy. She hadn't really believed it then.

But then came the odd jobs around the neighborhood, babysitting, summers at Lumpy's to pay for dance classes. Even pushing herself out of a month long depression when she had ripped that ACL. Working hard to get that full scholarship to San Diego and out of Charming. Working hard in school to earn trips to Europe and Asia. Rebecca wanted more than a marriage, kids, and Sunday dinners. She just worried that her daughter wanted too much. And sometimes wanting too much led to trouble. And despite it's idyllic small town allure, Charming had trouble to offer.

Laughing and giggling, Rebecca came off the ride with both of her hands holding onto the chattering little girls. Lizzie was talking about something she had seen on television, describing it in great animated detail. She handed the child's hand over to her mother, the six-year-old transitioning seamlessly from one adult to another.

"Leah and I," Rebecca said, scooping up the smaller girl and propping her up on her hip, "are going to get some cotton candy."

Leah giggled and wrapped her arms around Becca's neck, smacking a sloppy wet kiss on her aunt's cheek. Becca giggled herself and hoisted up the girl even higher, pushing some of her hair out of her face. A strand of hair getting tangled on the gold hoops she wore. The three-year-old was heavy on her hip but she wasn't a burden. Far from it. Truth be told Leah was her favorite of the two. She was smart and inquisitive. She didn't talk as much as Lizzie did. Leah was known to get straight to the point with basic dialogue. Something that was difficult for most children her age to achieve. She appreciated the child's disposition.

"How's it going Becca," came a voice from behind her. And the tone gave away the fact that he didn't give a fuck how she was doing. Becca rolled her eyes and turned to face Will.

"Things are good. I'm here with my family," she said head inclining towards the child who looked between the two adults once, no twice. Leah had a puzzled look on her face. And so did Becca. Was he really going to do this? In front of her three year old niece? God, did her mother have blinders on when she talked to these people?

"I can see that. I guess they don't know about you and-."

"Not now Will," she said sternly, turning around to face back towards the line. She hoped he would get the message. Instead he grabbed the arm that was holding on to Leah and jerked her around to face him.

"Hey Becca," came a sweet and concerned voice.

They both turned to look at her sister-in-law Sarah. The blonde woman looked between the two of them with a frown on her face, reaching for her daughter who willingly went to escape the tension. Once Leah was securely in her embrace, she asked her sister-in-law if everything was okay. Before Becca could answer though Will jumped in, "I just need to borrow your sister-in-law for a moment Sarah."

"Becca?"

She looked up at Sarah. Saw that she was genuinely concerned, eyes darting to the hold that Will still had on her arm. He must've saw it too because he stopped holding on so tight and let his hand trace down her arm to grab her fingers. She jerked automatically. Leah was looking at Will now, obvious dislike and distrust in her expression. Becca looked past Sarah's figure to her mother and father who were watching intently. Dear God she was never going to be able to have this conversation with her family at her back.

"Everything's fine Sarah. Will and I just need to talk about something."

Leah and Elizabeth's mother nodded and watched Will walk Leah off in a direction away from the cotton candy stand. It didn't take long for the entire Williamson family to approach the scene. It was Ellen who asked what was going on. Sarah said she wasn't sure. She kept the fact that she didn't think it was good to herself.

On the other side of the carnival, Clay had pulled Jax back from the group. He didn't have anything against carnivals. Hell, they all needed a bit of good clean fun every once in a while. And showing the citizens of Charming that they actually enjoyed good clean fun was good for business. So what Clay had to talk to Jax about had nothing to do with the carnival or the Russians they were meeting or anything club related. It had to do with the redhead his wife was currently nagging him about.

"Your mother. She's worried about you.""She's always worried about me man," Jax joked.

"Yeah. Well, this time it may be legit. Do you, uh, have anything you want to tell me? About a certain little redhead? A redhead who I saw crying in the bathroom? That your mother says rolled into town beat up and had an anxiety attack in the grocery store parking lot on Saturday?"

Jesus Christ. Becca had showed up beaten? And Gemma had seen her? He liked it better when the both of them thought he was just scratching an itch-not when they accused him of keeping secrets. Even though he was keeping secrets. But it wasn't his secret to tell. He couldn't just go dumping all of Becca's personal life onto his family. Not when she trusted him. Told him something in confidence and in a fit of desperate emotion. But he knew his mother wouldn't stop until she had the truth. It just wasn't in her. She was like a dog with a bone when it came to shit like this. Shit like worrying over her family.

Clay watched the emotion play out across Jax's face. _Shit_. He knew. Totally knew what had went down with that Becca girl. But why the hell would she tell him? They had no history outside of living in Charming all their lives. He could guarantee that they had spoken to each other only on a handful of occasions in all the time they had lived in this town. So why the hell was this bitch dumping out secrets to Jax? And why was he letting her?

"Look Clay, this thing with Becca is…complicated."

Complicated was an understatement. He couldn't deny that something was going on-even if he wasn't sure what. First rescuing her from Will James. Then her telling him the truth and their trip out to the streams. His need to comfort and touch her at the hospital. Now he was fucking dreaming about her. Had saw her face when he had come over some crow eater last night in his bed. He had actually shivered at the mental picture. Shivered. And then in the diner, when he had watched her watching him with that pensive look after he had reached over the table and grabbed Darby because of that quick temper that Darby had provoked with the comment about selling Wendy crank. He couldn't deny that his desire to fuck Becca had grown to caring about Becca. How she felt, what she thought, and mostly keeping her safe from herself. In the time of a week his emotions were beginning to fuck with his head where those giant gorgeous green eyes were concerned.

"Look, whatever this thing with Becca is…uncomplicate it."

With that said Clay walked away leaving Jax standing there to contemplate what he had said. Becca was an enigma. Interesting. A beautiful tough woman with a rebellious streak and deep thoughts. A combination that he hadn't come by since Tara left. She was smart. And funny. And passionate-he could tell. Tell by the way her eyes had lit up when she talked about dancing. And she cared about her family, so much so that she hid who she really was just so they would be happy with a lie. She was determined. Determined not to let what happened to her define her.

But he could tell, underneath all that fire, that she didn't exactly know how to do that. How to move on with her life. He suspected that talking helped. Just exactly why she was talking to him and no one else was the puzzle. He ran his hand over his face and sighed, his peripheral vision catching a mane of red hair. Automatically his head snapped up and he turned to see Becca and that prick Will James arguing in a corner. He commanded his feet to stay where they were so he wasn't sure how he got over to the small clearing underneath the trees to where they stood. Damn, every part of his body had a mind of its own when it came to her.

"Becca," he called out, making sure Will heard him, "you alright?"

"I'm fine," she told him, exhaustion and annoyance in her tone. He wasn't sure who it was directed at. "Just telling Will here how much of a douche he is."

Jax saw Will's hand twitch and instinctively he grabbed Becca's hand and encouraged her to move towards him, moving her somewhat behind his body. He squared off with Will, looking down at him slightly. The other man wasn't as tall as he was, just a couple of inches shorter. He smirked and looked around, making sure the crowd was more concerned with the carnival then the scene he had a feeling this idiot wanted to create before he spoke.

"Will. We've been here before. And I don't want to be here again."

"What are you, her protector now," he sneered, stepping dangerously close.

Funny, he had been wondering that same question himself. But give her a few more months and Becca, he had a feeling, wouldn't need a protector. The fire was in her. And given the opportunity to come out she would show everybody she wasn't the timid bible thumping character people seemed to think she was.

"Just a concerned neighbor that's all. You seem to get a bit grabby where unwilling women are concerned. I might have to remedy you of that grabby problem," he said with a smile.

Becca winced, she wasn't exactly sure what that meant but she heard a silent implicated threat in there somewhere. She took a deep breath, fingers clenching and unclenching as she watched the silent showdown. She gave Jax some credit, at least he wasn't completely blocking her body. She would be out of harm's way if Will made a grab for her but she wasn't being caged in. it felt good. She watched Will look between the two of them before snorting a lazy laugh and walking away. Both of them turned to make sure he left. Becca moved in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You don't have to rescue me all the time."

"Don't think of it as a rescue. Just doing my civic duty darlin'," he told her with that signature charming smirk.

"Civic duty my ass," she snorted, biting her lip, "How ya' been? Hadn't seen you since you tried to kill Ernest Darby in my diner."

"I been good. And I didn't try to kill him. Though I thought about it."

She laughed, her head looking down at the grass, sunshine bouncing off the red in her hair. Over her head he saw a few of his brothers, Tig, Bobby, and Chibs. They spotted him and Chibs gave a troublesome wave while Tig made some crude gesture. He rolled his eyes. When Becca looked up from examining the dirt, her lip was obviously pinker. He guessed she chewed on it when she was nervous.

"I would ask you if Darby was responsible for the drugs but I have a feeling you need to either wear a cut or a crow to ask questions like that."

"We could remedy that," he said smiling, grabbing her wrist and bringing her arm up, "We could ink you right here."

She snatcher her hand back and shoved him playfully. He laughed, grabbing her hand and placing it over his heart, acting like she had wounded him by rejecting his offer of inking her. She rolled hey eyes but didn't move her hand away from his chest. It was solid, warm, and caused a bit of numbness in her fingertips. It was Jax who dropped her hand from his body, but not before he dragged it slowly down his chest, and twirling his fingers with her as he dropped her hand down to her side and then let go. Somewhere between joking and that gesture, the look on his face had changed. He moved closer to her, looking down at her, and reached to grab a strand of her hair.

"You should know that Mary saw me on the back of your bike. Her daughter Sammie and Kelly Brooks saw us at the hospital. They think we're involved or something," she told him interrupting his ministrations with the abrupt statement. He took it for what it meant. _You can't touch me like that right here. Right now._ He swallowed and nodded, the step he took back almost involuntary.

"So I know about you and my mom the other day. She's figured out there's something I'm not telling her." He watched her look up at him, eyes widen with fear. "Hey," he whispered, "I'm not going to tell her. Unless you want me to."

Before she could answer he saw his brothers walking towards him. Damn. Now was not the time. They had been watching the conversation, reading his body language, the language he was trying his best to hide. But there was something about Becca. She bought out that side of him that could be gentle and vulnerable. And his brothers, probably under the influence of both his mother and Clay, had decided that now was the time to intervene. He took a deep breath and looked around, noticing that their prolonged interaction had garnered a few prolonged looks. Maybe they were right in their assessment.

"Jackie Boy," Chibs said, "you going to introduce us?"

"Yeah," was the reply. He was tempted to laugh. They knew who she was, "Becca this is Chibs, Tig, and Bobby. Chibs, Tig, and Bobby-this is Becca."

"Becca Williamson," Bobby asked, trying and failing to sound as if he wasn't sure. Becca took his hand and shook it with a snort. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked him in the eye.

"You know exactly who I am. And I know exactly who you are Bobby _Elvis_. You've been doing Elvis impersonations for school fundraisers since forever. And Mr. Trager, well, everybody knows you."

"Nothing good I hope doll," he said with a laugh.

"Of course not. You're damn notorious," she told him.

Tig laughed. Okay the bitch could hold her own. And she was definitely more than fuckable. Honestly he didn't see what problem was. So what she was the preacher's daughter? SAMCRO was known to ruffle a few feathers. And if Jax could ruffle some feathers and get laid in the process what was the big damn deal? Even though it seemed as if Jax was more than just about getting laid when it came to this chick. They could sense the sexual tension from feet away. The flirty shove. And then he had actually been holding her hand. What was he-in the seventh grade? Even then Jax hadn't been the holding hands type.

"You're the only one I don't know," Becca said pointing to Chibs, "We don't get too many Scotsmen here in Charming."

"Yeah I've noticed lassie," Chibs said. Grateful that Becca wasn't staring at his scars, just in his eyes. That act alone pricked at his common sense. She wasn't distracted by the Glasgow smile then this woman had some scars herself. He had to admit, she hadn't been what he had expected. He had expected her to latch onto Jackie Boy when they approached but she didn't. She stood her ground, joked with them, made an effort at introductions that went past polite. There was more to this girl that Chibs figured Jax was more than tempted to keep to himself.

Becca looked from the three men to Jax and opened her mouth to say something only to hear the distinct sound of her name coming out of her father's mouth. Her head jerked towards the direction of his call and saw his father standing with his mother. His feet were apart, his arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked less than pleased. Fuck, just what she needed. She rolled her eyes and sighed, turning back to the men in front of her.

"He looks like he's about to have an aneurysm. It was nice meeting you Chibs. Good try at fishing Tig and Bobby. Tell Gemma I said hello," and turning to face Jax she told him, "Thanks for the Will thing. Even though I could and still can handle it."

He nodded. Knowing she was referring more to him saying he would only tell his mother the truth if she wanted him to. And if she said she could handle it. He believed her. Besides, his mother didn't need to know everything.

They watched her walk over to her parents for a brief second before walking away from the impending scene. And the silence only lasted for a brief second before Tig spoke, "So Becca and Gemma are friendly? What does this mean for you exactly Jax?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Chibs and Bobby both pinned him with a look that called bullshit. But he was going to maintain his bluff until they actual said something. Toying with Becca's fingers and reaching up to touch her hair had been a mistake. He had forgotten where they were. Not that he was embarrassed. They were both adults for fucks sake. He should be able to touch her if they both wanted. But he wasn't promising her anything. And he wasn't going to be the cause of gossip and friction with her parents because of whatever was racking his body with lust and taking up shop in his chest. She knew it. Had been the level headed of the two when put in the situation. It surprised him. He was the person she talked to. She was the person who kept his logic in check. Hell, it was the look on her face and not Clay's arthritic grip on his arm that kept him from hitting Darby. The look that said _Really you going to have it out right here in front of all of these people while I'm at work_? And he wasn't even going to dwell on the fact that they had somehow communicated without words, by reading between the lines of what the other person was actually saying. Even with Tara he had never experienced such an immediate understanding of each other. She wasn't afraid of him. And he had the sneaking suspicion that she trusted him. He liked it. The feeling. Maybe a bit too much.

"What the hell are we talking about he says," Bobby said to Tig and Chibs who both shook their heads and shrugged, mocking Jax's obvious false confusion, "We're talking about you and Becca being all goo-goo eyed for each other. Totally forgetting that we were standing there watching when you were dragging her hand down your chest. You might as well just fucked her in front of her father."

Coincidentally enough that was exactly what Becca had been thinking as she approached her parents. She felt like a child being scolded. Even though she knew she was far from it. And that put her on the edge. Her father clenched his jaw and cast several looks between her and where Jax was currently standing some feet away from them before asking her what was going on.

"Dad. We were just talking."

"About what," he snapped.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm twenty-four years old. Not ten. You can't take away my bike because I crashed it. I can talk to whoever I deem fit to talk to."

"And Jax Teller is the kind of person you deem fit to talk to? He's a criminal."

"Better than a possessive freak like Will James," she said quickly.

Okay this was it. She was sick of being talked to like she was stupid. Treated as if she was a child. If she was going to stay her during the fall there was no way in hell she was staying with her parents. She had to get out of that house if she was ever going to be allowed to live. She had gotten too used to being independent. And now there was this feeling of powerlessness. Brought on by her rape and now her parent's constant smothering. God, it was almost like being raped all over again. Being stripped of the ability to make decisions. And here she was fighting against her parents for control of her own life. Remembering the way Jax had only partially shielded her from Will she realized he was currently the only person in her life who treated her like an adult. It was ridiculous.

"Becca what are you talking about? What's going on with you? You're fighting with Mary and Sammie. You won't give Will the time of day and you think it's okay to associate with people like that?"

"Funny how having people like that around is all fine and dandy when no Wal-Mart and Starbucks are trying to push their way into town right? What about treating everyone the way you want to be treated? All that love of Christ stuff you instilled into me my whole life? Damn, you're nothing but a bunch of hypocrites!"

"Language Rebecca," her father almost yelled.

People were beginning to stare. But at this point she didn't care. Let them see, let them see that all wasn't perfect in the Williamson household. She was tired. Tired of pretending that she was this prim and proper perfect little daughter. And she couldn't do it anymore. If she wasn't going back to San Diego she had to assert her independence and be herself or she was going to die here.

"It's Becca dad! And don't tell me how to talk! I'll say what I want, when I want, however I want, and whoever I want to say it too," she told him before storming off, past the crowd and towards the wooded area. She just needed time to think. Time to figure some more crap out. Like why the hell she had let Jax drag her hand down his chest and interlock their fingers. Clearly he was the one who hadn't been thinking straight if the embrace she saw in his eyes was his true intent.

Why would Jax Teller want to embrace her? Especially knowing what he knew. Sure, she was convinced that he wasn't judging her but he had to know that she would be damaged goods. Ruptured and broken by a violence so dark she couldn't fathom it. Why hadn't he told her to fuck off yet? The distraction of her thought about the multiple scenes that had just went down in the past twenty minutes almost overruled the small whimpering she heard. She frowned, recognizing the sound all too well, and decided to follow it. Ignoring that fearful part of her that told herself she didn't want to know what that sound was. That she was okay with ignorant bliss. But it just wasn't in her to let the wool be pulled over her eyes. Stumbling over tree roots and grass. And when she saw her, saw Elliott Oswald's daughter lying in the grass with her jeans down and her underwear ripped, tears burst from her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. Because she knew that even as a grown woman falling apart, shit like that could kill a child.

**A/N: Hey people! Just a heads up, Tristan Oswald's Season 1 rape is the true catalyst of Jax and Becca's relationship. It will push her into the club and further away from her family.**


	9. Chapter 8

"_Mine," he growled out, pinning her to the wall, throwing his head back at the feel of her wrapping her legs around his waist, "Say it," he demanded. Taking a deep breath, she arched her back, pressing the warmest part of her body against him. He groaned. She smiled, "Yours." Without any hesitation he plunged himself into her body and stilled, letting her grow accustom the size and feel of him. She was so tight. And hot. Nipping at her neck, he moaned her name, "Becca."_

Jax shot up in his bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He was panting. And he was hard, like really hard, harder than he could ever recall being because of a damn fantasy. He reached over and pulled a cigarette out of the pack lying on the nightstand. Lighting up a smoke he glanced around his dorm room, eyes finally landing on the sweetbutt with the piss poor dye job. And wouldn't you know it, it was dyed this awful shit shade of red. Not like that fiery copper color that gleamed in the sunlight. Shit. He knew the bitch lying next to him was nothing but a crap substitute for the real thing but he couldn't bring himself to do it. To actually put Becca in his bed. Not now. He was almost positive she wasn't ready for something like that. Especially not with someone like him.

But he had to admit, he thought he had it in her. She was smart. Yesterday she had been real sly about trying to pick up some information on Darby. He smiled at the remembered statement, _"I would ask you about Darby but I think you have to wear a cut or a crow to ask questions like that"_ and then his reply that he could ink her right on her arm. He had been part joking, part flirting when he said that. And she knew it. But he had to wonder if there was a part of himself that somehow how had actually meant it. He had no doubt that the part of her that had yet to be fully unlocked could handle the life. But the life of an Old Lady was hard to handle, it was dangerous, difficult on any woman. And he kept telling himself that he didn't have a great track record when it came to retaining old ladies. Tara. Wendy. Would all that inner strength he saw in her keep her from succumbing to the temptations of an exit? Would he be able to bear another woman leaving him again?

Swearing, he nudged the girl next to him who woke up with a smile and smudged make-up, drawling "Good morning baby". He cringed. Sometimes a good lay was better in the haze of alcohol. He pushed her off of him in her attempt to straddle him. Picked her clothes up off the floor and handed them to her. In a huff she pulled her shorts and tank top on and stomped out of his room, slamming the door behind her. Before he had a chance to lay back down and reexamine the situation at hand there was a loud banging on the door.

"Jax-Clay wants you in church," Half-Sack called from the other side of the door.

He put out his cigarette and threw on some jeans, a t-shirt with the reaper symbol across the front, and his cut. He knew this couldn't be good. Him and Clay had been at odds of late. And church for him here lately had doing nothing but piling on the shit storm that was this goddamned rift. And he needed a clear head if he was going to handle it. That meant that whatever this thing with Becca was, like Clay told him, he need to uncomplicate it and handle his shit.

He met his brothers at the table, lingering on the Brains Before Bullets mantra on the wall for a little too long. The thought had been haunting him for a while, almost like a sense of foreboding. He wasn't sure what was coming. But he didn't imagine it was anything good. That was what his life was. You had maybe an illusion of peace before something came and blew that bubble to pieces, reminding you that there was always something to take care of or someone gunning for you. Gunning actually seemed to be the problem these days.

"We got business to attend to," Clay said, pulling a cigar from his cut, "Elliot Oswald's kid-his daughter was raped at Fun Town."

Silence. Jax felt his fingers clench and then clench again, involuntarily going into fists. There had been too much of this going around for his taste. Immediately his thoughts went to Becca. And he felt guilty for all the fantasizing he was doing. About wrapping her legs around his body and-. Well, in then this came reality had came around slapped him in his face to remind him exactly how the two of them came to be in this, whatever this was. Because she had confided in him. Told him something that she hadn't and wouldn't tell anybody else. And he couldn't betray that by seducing her.

"How old is she," Chibs asked. Jax eyes went to his friend, immediately knowing he was thinking of Kerrianne, his own daughter. He wasn't surprised by the murderous glint in the Scotsman's eyes.

"Thirteen," Clay said.

"Jesus Christ," he said out loud from his spot in the VP chair. What kind of sick fuck raped a kid? Probably the same kind who got to know his victim for six years. He ran his hand over his face. He heard Clay said that Elliot had came to him and wanted him to find the bastard who did it. He was relieved. He had a displaced sense of vengeance coursing through his system right now. It wouldn't help Becca for the club to find this guy, but it sure as hell would maybe help him. Damn, could he be more selfish?

"And Jax. Your girl," Clay told him, pointing his cigar in his direction, knowing that this thing was Becca was becoming less of a thing and more of a relationship when his step-son didn't frown in confusion or get defensive when she was referred to as his, "Becca found Tristan in the woods. You think she'll have any problem talking to you about it?"

"No," he replied confidently with a shrug and shake of his head.

"You sure," Tig asked, "Sure the preacher's daughter won't have a problem with outlaw justice?"

He recalled that day of the streams. The rebel deep down inside of her. The lack of desire in her to play the victim. Yesterday when she reminded him she could take care of herself. So he knew what he spoke was truth and deciding that bothering to answer Tig's question was just a waste of time. So he pinned the SAA with a look that conveyed exactly what he was feeling. _I'm sure and if I'm wrong, pin the fallout on me_.

XXXXXXXREAPERXXXXXXX

In a pair of cutoff jeans that had once belonged to Amber and maybe were just a bit too short and black and white striped tank top, putting on another pot of coffee at the counter, she looked calm and collected. Even though she was anything but. She felt numb. It all seemed so surreal. Stuff like this just didn't happen here, it was the reason why she found herself driving here in a rush of tears, a day earlier than she should've been. Because people were safe in Charming. And now this. This morning she had told her parents she wouldn't be going with them to see Tristan in the hospital, that instead she was headed to work. She needed to pick up a few extra shifts and a few extra cash. She had her eye on this tiny little studio above Floyd's barbershop. Anyway she doubted the teenager wanted to hear from her parents who would try to ease her of her pain with the thought of God comforting her in this time of unthinkable tragedy or even worse that the Lord worked in mysterious ways. She refused to believe that anything good could come of what had been done to Tristan. Not when she was so young, so full of promise and the beginnings of a happy future. She thought of last night, around the dinner table. It hadn't been a good meal.

Her father had begun to bless the food, her mother gracefully interrupting to say a prayer for Tristan. She exploded. Claiming that prayer for Tristan hadn't gotten her anything, except a blind eye from the god who was supposed to love her but instead allowed her to be dragged into the woods and raped at Fun Town. But deep down, she knew that she also meant her own prayers hadn't gotten her anything except a sick and twisted sadistic professor, parents who didn't trust her, and a slew of people who didn't understand her. If her self from six months ago could hear her now, she would accuse her of acting like a whiny teenager. But now, now Rebecca knew it was all true. She just couldn't see the point. The point of praying to, trusting, and believing in a god who failed to protect her when she needed it the most. If her faith had ever been at an all-time low, it was now.

Her mother and father had both accused her of not being the daughter that they had raised. What they failed to realize that she never had been. She always had dreams of getting out under her father's thumb and her mother's prying ways. Moving to New York. Being a famous ballerina. And when that hadn't panned out she turned to school as a way to achieve the same goal. But now she wasn't sure where all her hard work would leave her. And despite her waning faith, she was still desperate. She had to trust in something. Had to turn to something. Or she would go crazy. If God was going to move, now would be the time-and she preferred it not to be mysterious but big and in her face. Just something to prove that He was in fact there.

After their accusation her parents had launched into a mile long attack about how she hadn't been the same since she came back almost a month ago, that something had obviously happened since her arrival back home, and they wanted to know if it had anything to do with Jax Teller. Damn. She remembered the feel of his body as he ran her hand down his chest. Hard. Lean. Muscled. Warm. The comfort in his larger hand over hers. The anticipation of the feel of his body as he stepped closer. She wasn't an idiot. Inexperienced. Maybe. But not an idiot. She knew what was happening. She found him attractive. More than that, she was attracted to him. And she thought that she might have a tiny, really tiny, really just a slither of a case of hero worship. It was almost embarrassing to think so, especially at her age. And Jax was far from the heroic type. Well, conventionally anyways. In a sort of screw mainstream society way, she supposed he was rather heroic. Complete with biker armor and trusted Harley.

Confronted with the past and her crumbling relationship with her parents, she had to admit that they hadn't been the best of parents-not to her anyways. Her brothers had never lacked for encouragement in all that they did. But her, she supposed she was at the bottom of the totem pole when it came to that. Her natural curiosity, questioning the order of things, wanting more than what they could give her made her in direct opposition to everything they believed. It was funny, how a product of themselves could so easily turn against them. Well, she imagined that's how they saw things. She supposed they didn't know what to do with her so they just tried to make her into what they wanted. In the end it had done nothing but cause conflict. They had tried to make raising her easier. Instead their relationship had become nothing like what a parental-daughter relationship idyllically could have been.

The sound of the bell above the door had her picking up a pot of coffee and her notepad and moving around the counter towards her section, the sound reminding her that she was getting paid to work not to think and dwell on depressing thoughts. She was stopped in her tracks though when Jax came in. She felt herself smile but it quickly disappeared when she noticed he was frowning.

"What is it?"

"Um," he looked around. Back in the kitchen he saw Marty and Mary stop what they were doing to look at the both of them. Mary crossed her arms over her chest. And then there were a few customers who found the situation intriguing. He had a feeling her blow-up with her father yesterday had already spread via the town rumor mill. "Can I borrow you for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure," she told him, going back behind the counter and setting the coffee pot back on the machine, silently leading him past Mary and Marty's disapproving looks towards the office in back. She heard him sigh when he she closed the door behind him, "What's the problem?"

He wasn't sure how to approach this. If it had been anybody else he just would've told them he needed to know everything they knew about the Tristan situation. He looked her over, seeing the way her arms crossed over her chest pushed her breasts up higher so they were straining against the neckline of her tank top. Fuck she looked good. Dragging his eyes up from her chest he looked at her face. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept for a few nights, and worried. This had to be rough on her, seeing a thirteen-year-old girl like that. Had to remind her of what had happened. As he got closer, he saw the expression on her face. Total insecurity. He frowned. He didn't like it.

Yesterday when she had told him she had the Will situation covered, when she had held her own against his brothers, when she had stood up to her parents she had been this confident secure individual sure of herself and who she was. She was strong, capable, smart, independent, feisty. And she had his back. Yesterday when she told them that her boss thought they were involved, he knew she had been trying to stop him from causing trouble for the both of them. The gesture was simple. She wasn't taking a bullet for him. But then again, she had met his mother. Stopping him from touching her with Gemma around at Fun Town was like taking a bullet in itself. He'd be the first to call his mom a pistol.

The best part about yesterday was when she had told him he didn't need to rescue her all the time. A part of him warmed at the memory. It was true. She didn't need it. But he liked doing it. His mom told him he had a need to rescue every damsel in distress he saw. And it might be true. Hell it was true. But he knew Becca was no damsel in distress. She wouldn't allow herself to be. He recalled that day at the streams when she told him she felt like a victim and she hated it. No she wasn't a damsel in distress so why the hell was he enjoying the time with her again? Oh that's right, because all that feisty independent intelligence in a package built for a sinner to enjoy was damned intriguing. And it had quickly gone from simply wanting to open that package to wanting to maybe, well, keep it. And explore it.

"I need to talk to you about Tristan. I knew you're the one who found her."

Immediately she stiffened and her eyes looked around the room, anywhere but him. He knew she was trying to keep her composure, trying to be strong. But he also saw the tears prickling against her eyelashes. He sighed and stepped closer to her.

"I know this is hard on you. Seeing her like she was and…But I need to tell me anything she said, anything you saw, anything you can remember about last night." Slowly her head turned on her neck and she craned her neck back to look up at him. There was some faraway look in her eyes for a brief second until she blinked, clearing away the tears and letting those bright beautiful green eyes stare into his own blue ones.

"You're here to find her rapist," she whispered.

He nodded and brought his hand up to caress her cheek, silently telling her that it was okay if she cried. But she wouldn't. She took a step back and circled around him facing the wall, her back to him. He watched the movement of her body with the deep breath she took. He wished he didn't have to do this. Knowing that it was causing her even a minute bit of pain was hard on him. Made him feel like he was taking advantage of her trust and confidence him.

"She didn't say anything. I didn't ask. And I didn't see anything. It was dark by the time I found her," she turned to face him, wiping at a single tear falling down her cheek, "I wish I could help you. Help her."

"Becca, it's okay-."

"No it's not! When I saw Tristan," she began, shaking her head in disbelief, standing still as he came closer to her, grabbing her upper arms and yanking her close to him so she could do like she did that day he took her to the streams almost a month ago, latch onto his cut. They both needed that connection, "It was like seeing myself and reliving it all over again. I need to help her Jax. If I help her, I can help me."

"Baby," he said, moving his hands up to her face. He felt her hands clutching at his cut, gripping the leather like it was some sort of lifeline, "I know you want to help her. But you're a mess right now angel darlin'."

Her forehead hit his chest with a thud. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his cheek down on the top of her head, inhaling that scent of lavender and coffee. She pulled back out of his embrace, moving her hand from his cut to his face, tugging at a stand of hair there and then moving her fingers down to his lips, touching them with a gentility he hadn't felt in a long time. Her kiss was innocent, more of a peck than anything else.

"Thank you," she whispered, removing her other arm and disentangling herself from his body but he grabbed her arm to stop her, pulling her back to where she was, chest to chest with his body and in his arms.

"You're welcome," he whispered back before his lips descended on hers. This was more than a simple peck on the lips. It turned hot and fast quicker than he had anticipated and when she opened her mouth, gave him entrance, he instinctively moved her against the wall. She wrapped an arm around his neck, trying to pull him closer to her. His hands found themselves shuffling between her waist, her hips, her hips, her back, her thighs, and her ass, kneading the flesh there, soliciting a moan that hand her legs opening of their own accord.

He smiled against her mouth, leaving her lips to move to her neck, finding a spot right behind her earlobe that her breath increasingly rapidly. He alternated tugging and nipping with full on biting and open mouth kisses. She moved a hand towards his back, underneath his cut, underneath his shirt, palm splaying against the flesh there. Her cold skin causing a tingle at the base of his spine. When she moaned his name, he shifted his weight, wrapping his arms around her so he could lift her.

She didn't fight him, simply wrapped her legs around him. His hand trailed slowly up at her thigh, fingers twirling with the fringe there. "Damn it," she groaned, arching her back and dropping her head against the wall in the process, "Don't stop," she told him, referring to the ministrations of both his hands. The one cupping her breast and the one fiddling with the button on her shorts. But a knock on the door pulled them both out of their lustful mind fog. Jax groaned, pressing himself into Becca as he did so. She whispered a simple _fuck_, the word having Jax smirking at her.

"Becca, you okay," came Mary's voice from the other side of the door.

She slapped at Jax's cut, demanding that he let her down. He did so slowly, making sure she slid against his taut body, she shivered, he smiled. All that got him was a playful slap across the shoulder. But he watched in satisfaction when she ran a shaky hand through her hair and called out to Mary that she was fine. She ran her hands over her body, buttoning her shorts, and rearranging her top, tucking hair behind her ears. Her lips were red and she had bite marks on her neck, not to mention the swollen earlobe he had paid so much attention to. Just as he was about to open his mouth to say something about their current horny states, the door swung open.

Mary looked between the two of them. And once she saw the swollen lips and the disheveled hair she knew they had been close to fucking in her office. She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. Becca did the same.

"Break's over," Mary snapped, turning on her heels and stalking back towards the front. She left the door open. Jax swaggered over and grabbed Becca by the waist, spinning her around to face him.

"You trying to get me fired," she asked.

"A little mid-day office show of affection never hurt anybody."

"Affection? I thought you were just trying to get in my pants."

"Didn't have to try too hard," was the quick reply.

Becca laughed and leaned her forehead onto his chest again. She sighed. She knew what had almost just happened. And then again she didn't. She was grateful for Mary knocking on the door when she had. And then again if she wasn't. If the two of them had been left well enough alone she had no doubt that she would have let him take her right there up against the wall, or the floor, or the desk. She had been that needy about it. Determined to figure out her own sexual confusion own her own she changed the subject.

"Are you guys looking to deliver your own brand of outlaw justice before the finest of Charming PD do?"

"You mean David Hale," he asked, snorting at the thought of that tight ass prick on their case, "well, there's nothing against the law about a citizen's arrest," his good natured mood returning with a bright smile. He led her by the hand out to the front of the restaurant, smirking at Mary. It was odd, him and the older woman had got along just fine-even exchanging a few well-meant pleasantries and flirtations-before he became involved with Becca. "Get back to work," he told her, running his hand down her arm and delivering a quick kiss to her temple before leaving, the bell across the door signaling his exit.

Becca tossed some of her hair across her neck to cover up the evidence of what had happened in the back. But she knew now that when she got home she was going to be having a serious talk with her parents. And as if right on cue, her second mother stepped up with the coffee pot in her hand. "You know what you're doing," was all she asked. Just to spite her Becca thought about telling her she knew exactly what she was doing. But that would be a lie. She knew the both of them were making this up as they went along that there was no manual for how to date a biker or a how to book for bikers interested in preacher's daughters/rape survivors. So she shrugged and told the truth, "I'll figure it out. By the way I'm not going to be able to work that extra shift."

"Why not," Mary asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"I'm going to see Tristan Oswald. Just check up on her."

At her car, Becca blew out a breath of frustration. Her lunch break couldn't come around fast enough. She always knew she'd been under scrutiny. But feeling scandalous, well it was hard work and maybe just a bit fun. Finally, people in her hometown were seeing that she had an identity outside of being preacher man Williamson's kid. It was freedom. And if she'd known all she had to do was let Jax Teller kiss her forehead, she would've done it years ago. Because obviously getting a full ride to college and moving to San Diego hadn't done it. She fumbled with her keys but was interrupted from opening the door by a husky voice that signaled the nails on a chalkboard like presence of Kelly Davidson. Slowly, she turned to face her.

"Do your parents know that you're kissing bikers in public now?"

"Does your husband know you're nothing but a diseased ridden skank?"

At the comeback, Kelly dropped her smile and stalked closer, flipping her hair as she went. Seriously, this bitch was twenty-five years old and still flipped her fucking hair like she was prom queen all over again? She rolled her eyes. What was it going to take for her to realize that high school was over.

"Seriously Kelly don't you have a job to get to?"

"I got ten minutes before my lunch break is over," she shrugged, circling around the hood of Becca' car, carefully dragging a manicured nail along the metal. What was the point of this? Was she supposed to start shaking in her cute red flats? She suddenly realized that Kelly thought she was frightening. And she laughed. "What's so damn funny?"

"You are. You think I'm afraid because you're going to go tattle to my parents? You're pathetic. Watching Jax kiss me? Does that get you off or something? I mean, do you have something you want to tell me Kelly? Some deep forbidden longing rooted in your animosity towards me," she purred, then going into another bit of giggles.

Kelly turned a deep shade of red. This was not how she pictured this confrontation going. She expected Becca to do either two things-run away or get angry. But definitely not laugh at her. She hadn't been laughed at before in her life and she certainly wasn't going to start now. Slowly she walked towards Becca, coming nose to nose with the redhead. She let her eyes rake over her body, making sure she knew she was being assessed, and circled her as if she was inspecting her for use.

"You think you're what gets me going? How are you going to feel when I tell your parents what you've been up to and they send you back to San Diego? Then I'm going to fuck Jax and I'm going to make sure you know how his cock felt in my pussy."

Like that time she had told Jax about when that sorority girl had grabbed her by the hair and accused her of flirting with her boyfriend. That was how Becca felt. Indignation. Almost righteous indignation. This woman was such a hypocrite. An evil manipulative and deceitful hypocrite. How did nobody else see it? She was basically the devil sitting on the front pew every Sunday morning. She watched Kelly smile, clearly amused with Becca's silence.

"I'm too much of an adult to fight with you over a man. Besides if he fucks a cum ridden used up hypocritical bitch like yourself, he's clearly not the man I thought he was," she said thinking of how much she trusted him. About the feeling of gratefulness and relief when he said the MC was going to deliver on a citizen's arrest. She smiled at Kelly and cheerfully instructed her to, "Have a nice day," before getting in her car and zipping off towards St. Thomas.

She begin having doubts before she parked. She didn't know if she could do this. In her rearview mirror she caught sight of the bite marks on her neck and rolled her eyes at the guilt racking up in her chest. Damn it. After everything Jax had done for her, keeping her secret, being the person she could talk to, she could do this for him. And it wasn't just for him. It was for Tristan and herself. That's what she kept telling herself after grabbing her bag and walking into the hospital. And she said it to herself again when she reached the third floor where Tristan was being kept.

She was reaching for the door when she heard the clicking sound of heels on the floor. She turned around to see Gemma who looked between Becca and the door.

"It's a little late for visitors isn't it?"

"I um…just thought that I would come by and see how she was doing is all," Becca said with a neutral expression that had Gemma stepping closer.

"I heard you were the one who found her," it was more of a question that a statement. Gemma watched Becca nod and then look away for a second before forcing herself to look back at Gemma. "Clay told me he asked Jax to talk to you."

"Yeah. I guess he did."

Gemma then bit her lip, nodded, and looked around the hallway again. She couldn't help it, it was the Old Lady in her that had her cautious. If the way Becca was watching every doctor, nurse, and orderly who walked by was any indication, the girl in front of her knew to be cautious as well.

"Jax told me you know-."

"Yeah I know. I also know he's still running around town as well."

"Well, he'll be crippled pretty soon. No more running. Ever," Gemma replied, fishing. Wanting to know if Becca truly understood what it meant for the boys to be after this guy. That try as he might, Hale was never going to find the bastard if Clay and Jax got to him first. She knew her boys. And she knew there was going to be grave dug tonight. She wanted to know where this bitch was at. She didn't need another Tara or another Wendy. And if Jax was getting as serious as he appeared to be she wanted to know this chick was going to have her son's back.

"Good. The world could do with one less runner," was Becca's stern reply, looking Gemma dead in the eye, shocking both of them. She knew what the older woman was hinting at. That Tristan's rapist was going to end up dead. Well, as far as she was concerned it was what he deserved. An eye for an eye. She recalled a story from the book of Genesis. Jacob's daughter Dinah had been raped and her brothers had killed the man who did it and slaughtered everyone who stood with him. It was Old Testament brutality. She didn't know what that made her anymore.

Gemma assessed the situation. Becca Williamson was standing in the hospital discussing how she was okay with cold blooded murder. Becca talking about the MC's race against Charming PD to find Tristan's rapist without actually talking about the MC's race against Charming PD to find Tristan's rapist was Old Lady behavior 101. She didn't know what to make of it all. The most least likely person to pique her son's interest had also piqued hers as well. So she did what any other MC matriarch would do. She put her to the test. She stepped back and let Becca come here to do what she thought she was here for. Find out who raped that little girl.

When Becca entered the room Tristan was lying in bed with a beat up face, playing a game on her phone. She looked up when she heard the soft clicking of the door closing. Becca Williamson was standing there, watching her, looking emotional but trying to hide it. She remembered her wearing the same look last night when she had found her. She'd call her baby girl and told her that everything was going to be okay. She'd lifted her up and carried her out of the woods and had the first person she saw call 911. She'd given her statement to both her parents and David Hale.

Her own parents had been here earlier. With their bible, prayers, and a reassuring message that God was still there. And that sometimes bad things just happened but that the Lord was working in her life despite the bad, whether she believed it or not. She just shook her head and smiled. Hoping that it was true, that God was still there. And that He always had been. She had been surprised and a little bit sad that Becca hadn't come with her parents to see her. But she was here now.

"I didn't get a chance to say thank you. For helping me."

"Sweetheart, don't worry about that," Becca said moving closer, pointing to the side of the bed, seeking permission to sit down. Tristan nodded and scooted over as much as the bed itself would allow. Becca sighed and looked around the hospital room, biting her lip before settling her gaze back on the young girl next to her, "I'm sorry Tristan. About what happened to you. That you had to go through that."

"Thank you," she replied sheepishly.

"I think it would help if you talked to someone about it."

"My mom. My mom says I shouldn't. That it's a secret."

Parents. She swore sometimes in their effort to look after their kids all they ended up doing was screwing them over. Tristan had to talk to someone, someone other than her family. If she kept it a secret it was going to come back and shit on everything she ever had. In her head she would always be the girl who was raped at Fun Town and if she kept that to herself, it would consume her. Change her. And maybe not for the better.

Once again she thought of herself. She was a different person now. She didn't know if it was bad or good. What she was about to do. Milk a thirteen-year-old rape victim for information so some acquaintances of hers could kill him. She knew that to some people that was more than wrong. But to her it was necessary. Necessary for justice to be carried out. The law wasn't the only person who passed down punishment. And sometimes inadequate punishment at that. This guy would get what, ten years in prison, then he'd be out. Free to roam the streets and do the same thing to somebody else. But if she could prevent that from happening then she damn well was going to.

"Listen to me Tristan. I understand what you're going through. I really do. Because it happened to me."

She closed her eyes. But opened them just as quickly because she saw it in her head, flashing across her mind like a film clip. Yes, open eyes were definitely better. Tristan's expression, if it was possible, softened and she reached for Becca's hand, holding it tight. Becca gave the girl a watery smile and patted her hand.

"So I know Tristan, from experience, that if you don't tell someone what happened it's going to eat you alive."

He had asked her if she wanted to see something cool. He walked her over to the edge of Fun Town but she had stopped, hesitant and wary to follow. But he grabbed her, his carnival buddies making sure no one saw as he dragged her into the woods. Two blows to the face that busted her jaw and left her in so much pain she was almost incapable of fighting back. She knew what that felt like. The immobility. The need to fight back but lacking the energy and somehow the drive to even do so. The guilt of not being able to stop him.

"It was the clown," she mumbled, a tear sliding down her face. Becca pulled her into an embrace and kissed the top of her forehead before whispering her own bit of truth, "He was my teacher."

"What's going to happen to me? I mean, well I ever be able to get over it," she mumbled through tears.

"Oh sweetheart. You'll deal with it. You'll move past it. But you're never going to be able to forget. You learn from it. When things get hard, and they will because that's how life is, you remember that you survived this. Survived something that kills a lot of people. And that strength, it'll get you through anything."

Becca wiped at her eyes and stood up to go. But the teenager meekly grabbed at her fingers, "Will you uh, come and see me tomorrow?" Becca smiled and nodded, instantly feeling warmed by the smile the young girl gave her. Suddenly feeling hot and tired she tugged at her hair, reaching for a hair tie in her back to pull it up in a dancer's bun.

"So, how'd it-," Gemma asked, eyes narrowing on her neck. She cursed under her breath, forgetting why she had her hair down in the first place. But Gemma just smiled and nudged her head towards the bruises on her neck and earlobe, "My son do that?"

Becca blushed fiercely, cursing her redhead genes. Her hand went up to her neck, grazing the laved skin there. However, Gemma's own swearing cut off her reply. She followed the woman's eyes and let out her own curse when she saw Elliott's wife and David Hale coming out of a corridor. She was crying. She cursed again. She knew a revelation when she saw one. Hale was going out to arrest that dick.

"I'll get to the clubhouse to tell Jax," Becca offered. When Gemma spun her head around to tell Becca she appreciated the offer but didn't think that it was a good idea, Becca interrupted, "Gemma I need to do this."

She didn't give her time to ask why, instead she took the stairs while Hale took the elevator. Putting all that dance conditioning to good use when she sprinted down the stairs and into the parking lot where saw Hale's beat up old Jeep. Reaching into her bag she pulled out a Swiss army knife and closed her eyes, desperately sending up a quick prayer asking God to forgive her for what she was about to do. And before she could change her mind, she slit all four of Hale's tires and walked to her car, peeling out of the parking lot just as he came out of the hospital's front doors.

Pulling into the front gates of Teller-Morrow Automotive, she didn't have time to decide whether or not this was a bad idea. She did like she had been asked. If it had been anything besides this, she was almost sure she would've had her reservations about it. Okay she wasn't almost sure, she was sure she would've had her reservations about it. She slammed the door of her car shut, catching the attention of a few hang arounds. One particularly large guy, wearing a sleeveless flannel and sporting heavily tattooed arms stopped her on her entrance towards the clubhouse. She didn't need this, not tonight. She was already edgy after slashing Hale's tires. She kept seeing herself in handcuffs, knowing something like that was definitely illegal. Edgy and anxious for most people just meant edgy and anxious but for Becca it meant a spiked temper. So she wasn't surprised when she crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Move."

"Who you lookin' for baby," he purred, tossing the butt of his cigarette onto the ground.

"Not you," she bit out, moving around him only for him to grab her hand. She snatched her hand away and yelled at him not to touch her. She wasn't here for this shit. And her temper was rising by the second.

"Who's going to make me," he said, invading her personal space, smelling of cigarettes, alcohol, and cheap sex. Her hands balled into fists and realizing this guy was a tad bit intoxicated she decided to take advantage of it. Bringing her knee up she got a solid shot off to his groan and when he went down, clutching at his crotch, she brought her right fist back only to be grabbed around the waist and yanked backwards.

"Whoa angel darlin', what happened?"

"That dickhead grabbed me," she yelled, drawing attention of a few other Sons and scantily clad women spread out across the complex, and launched for him again, "Son of a bitch," only to have Jax pull at her small frame again.

From his spot in the doorframe Clay watched pleasantly surprised at the spitfire in Jax's hold. He had seen her tell that hang around to fuck off and deliver a solid knee to that handsy bastard's balls. And she had a mouth on her. He shared a look with his SAA who was smirking at the sight and undoubtedly the shorts she was wearing. The fringe was hanging low and he spotted the inside material of her pockets beating against her upper thighs and Jax twisted her around and practically carried her into the clubhouse.

"I'm fine Jax," she told him and he let go, slowly, only to move his hands up to her shoulders and massage away the tension in there, "It's been a frustrating day," she said with a smile aimed at the VP. He smiled back. Clay whistled low. If that didn't reek of a sexual innuendo he didn't know what did.

"As exciting as that little show you put on was, you wanna' tell me what the hell you're doing here," Clay asked, tossing back the drink that was in his hand. She looked up at Jax who nodded his permission and she walked towards him, looking around at the women in the room and a few brothers over at the pool table. She sighed.

"I talked to Tristan."

There was silence as he watched her. He had his doubts about whether she would come through. Granted if she-or Jax for that matter-knew about his ulterior motif then maybe she wouldn't have been okay with playing along. But he saw how she handled herself with that hang around, how she looked to Jax for permission, how she eyed everyone suspiciously and carefully before she spoke. He would have to tell Gemma. She was no Tara or Wendy. This girl was another thing all together.

"Everyone, Becca here has something she needs to tell us," he told her, turning around and leading her to the table.

She looked back at Jax who nodded his head, telling her it was okay to follow. He tossed back a quick drink before following himself. He was juiced up already from his interrupted session with Becca and seeing her out there about to deliver a pretty good right hook to that guy outside on the floor who was five times bigger than her and only slightly buzz had been a huge turn on. Picking her up and hauling her into the clubhouse hadn't helped the raging hard on either. And the way she had looked for his permission, to talk to Clay. It was insane. How she automatically knew when to be independent and when to let him take the reins. Most of the time that behavior was learned, not innate.

He watched her stand at the door, waiting for all of them to take their seats. He crooked his finger towards her and she followed his instructions, coming to stand next to him. But still she didn't talk. She waited until Clay addressed his brothers at the table and then turned to her, demanding her to tell him what she knew. She was brief and to the point and she answered without any hesitation at all, "She says it was the clown."

"Same prick who was giving us lip," Chibs asked both Tig and Jax. They shrugged.

"She said he was wearing a red and yellow costume and that he'd been working the dunking both earlier."

"That'd be the one," Jax said on a sigh, he reached for Becca's hand, "Wait outside."

She nodded and exited the room. Jax looked at Clay, ready for him to take the lead with this information. Instead, the aging leader scratched his forehead and Chibs spoke up, "She know what we gonna' do this bastard huh Jackie boy?"

"Yeah. She knows."

It couldn't have been more than five minutes. The wait outside the doors. But it felt like more. When she had entered that room, a room she felt like she had no place being, and saw the phrase Brains Before Bullets on the wall, what she was getting herself into only sunk in deeper. She knew they were going to kill this guy tonight. And she knew she was helping them do so. And try as she might, she couldn't feel about it. There was a voice telling her that this was wrong. But then she remembered Tristan in the hospital asking what was going to happen to her. She remembered asking herself that same question for days. And she just couldn't bring herself to want to take any of it back. Not coming here. Not delivering a man to the MC to be murdered. Not slashing David Hale's tires-even though she was a might jumpy about it. Not whatever this was with Jax.

"Hey," came Jax's voice from behind her, "I want you to wait here until I get back. We need to talk. My dorm's the first one on the left right down the hall."

"Okay," she agreed, closing her eyes when he kissed her forehead. When he turned to walk away she grabbed his cut and got up from her spot leaning against the bar, "Um…you'll be careful right."

"I'm always careful angel darlin'," was the reply.

**A/N: This was a long one. This chapter was so difficult for me. It began as three different chapters. And just as I was about to post, I decided I didn't like it, scrapped it, and started over. I personally think this was a crucial turn in Jax and Becca's relationship. Tell me what you think by hitting that review button-wink, wink.**


	10. Chapter 9

The snort of typicality from when she had entered his room and saw the rumpled bed and the posters of Harley Davidson's and scantily clad women on the walls had quickly come and gone. She hadn't been surprised at all, in fact it had inspired a few chuckles. She had dropped her bag on the chair by the door with a sigh. She wasn't sure where she should wait exactly. Or how long they would been gone. Instead she had stood awkwardly before deciding to take a look across the small room. See what occupied Jax's living space. As she was studying some pictures on a small dresser the door was opened.

"I almost didn't believe you were really in here. Guess you're waiting for Jax huh," Gemma said, hand still on the doorknob even though she had fully entered the room.

"He asked me to. Wants to talk," she shrugged. She knew where this conversation was headed. They would talk about today, what they had started. And hopefully, they would finish it. To be truthful to herself, she wasn't really sure what she wanted. What she needed. Or how to help achieve either of those. It was awkward. She hadn't expected for her first real encounter to be filled with so much heat. Nor in the back of the diner in Mary's office up against the wall with a biker. Throughout her dateless years at college she just figured she would be one of those women who never really knew the true beauty of the act. She just hadn't been interested enough to explore. Nothing past a handful of kisses. Well, that one frat party-but it didn't count because it had only been secondhand information relayed via Amber. She loved that girl to death but she had a knack for stretching the truth just a bit.

"It's good. I think you guys need it. Heard you, um, took down Aaron," Gemma said closing the door behind her, crossing her arms over her chest.

"He deserved it. I don't like to be grabbed," was the snappy answer. Gemma raised her eyebrow at the tone and Becca bit her cheek, "Sorry to be snappy. Everything, today was just…new and unexpected."

"Listen," she began, coming towards Becca in a much gentler way than she ever had before. It almost had the young woman raising her own eyebrow in suspicion, "you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?"

She sighed. This wasn't the first time she had been asked that today. She took a seat in the chair where she had dropped her purse, moving the bag to the dresser. She looked around, almost seemingly searching for an answer in Jax's room. That was almost answer enough.

"I'm not naïve Gemma. I know who you are. And I might not know details but I know what you do. It's new. It's different. It's…dangerous. I realize all that. But…," she trailed off, not sure how she was going to say what she felt the older woman needed to hear without revealing every truth. Some things she had to keep to herself, or in this case between her and Jax, "I trust Jax."

"Why? How'd he earn this trust," Gemma asked, coming to sit on the bed across from Becca. They were getting to it. Getting to the bottom of whatever had Jax running to Becca all big, bad, and protective.

Becca looked at Gemma's face. This woman was never going to be satisfied without the whole truth. And until she was satisfied she was going to be on her ass about it. If she trusted Jax, if she had trust in the club's actions regarding Tristan, then surely she could trust Gemma. But lately she had learned that trust could be misplaced and she knew from her few encounters that Gemma could definitely hurt her. But if everything was headed where she thought it was headed, it didn't mean she couldn't trust this woman. She just had to be careful about it. So in that moment she made a decision. Made a decision that she hoped wouldn't come back and bite her in the ass.

"The day Jax took me out to the streams, when I came to get my car looked at. He took me out there because I had a break down in the bathroom," she paused, stood up and paced the room. She could do this. She had to do this. Besides she was sick of Gemma fishing. She smirked at the silent admission, "I told him what happened to me in San Diego."

"And what happened?"

"I was attacked. By my professor. Known him for six fucking years. Next day I got in my car and drove non-stop back to Charming."

"Define attack," she said, sympathy feeling her tone. It was that fierce maternal side of her. She could be a manipulative bitch when the case warranted it. But she was a fierce mother, that was her purpose in life, to look out for her family as best she could. Biological-and those brought in by the club. And she knew her son. Whether he realized it or not, his involvement with Becca was involving her with the club. She was glad for this talk. They needed it.

"I was raped. Jax found me in the bathroom. It just sort of came out. I was in shock so he took me out to the streams. For some peace and quiet. To talk. Now, you and him are the only people who know."

Inferring it and hearing it aloud were two very different things. For someone who had survived something so traumatic, the girl in front of her did not look worse for wear. In fact, she suspected that the trauma had brought something out of her. Herself. It was funny, how devastating shit like that truly opened people's eyes to the world around them, encourage them to live. And she shouldn't have been surprised. Her son, like his father had a big heart. Maybe too big. He would be the first to take this woman under his wing after her telling him something like that. And keeping it a secret from her, for an entire month? Boy had learned. And if she knew her son, he was way past gone. It never took Jackson long. To fall for somebody. And when he did it, he fell hard. But the asshole, like his father, also had a knack of somehow screwing it up.

"You know what baby girl, you remind me of myself."

"How," Becca asked. Confused. As far as they could tell, they had absolutely nothing in common. Except an obvious blond VP.

"I'm a preacher's daughter too. With an overbearing bossy mother. I ran away from Charming when I was sixteen. By the time I came back. I came back with my husband John and a baby and brought the MC with me."

That struck the redhead dumb. Picturing Gemma Teller Morrow on a church pew Sunday morning was not something easily imagined. She couldn't help the slack jaw that had manifested as her imagination tried to brew up the mental picture. At the sight Gemma herself laughed. And she closed her mouth quickly, tucking some hair behind her ear and biting her lip.

"But you remind me of myself in other ways too. You remember that day at the grocery store. You stood up to me. Told me to fuck off. You're a strong bitch to pull something like that off so soon after-."

"Feeling powerless? Yeah, don't remind me. It's not an emotion I would like to revisit."

"Well," she said, seeing that fierce side of her that could bring 6'2'', 275 Aaron to his knees with a shot to his groin, the side of her that could intrigue her son, "you're certainly no damsel in distress."

"Never aspired to be one. Not going to start now. Hell, Jax gives me more credit for that than my own fucking parents."

"Speaking of your parents. You do know that you're not going home tonight? Not if my son has anything to say about it."

She blushed. Yeah, she knew that was the case. On her way back to his room she kept asking herself if she should just leave and go home. Retreat to familiar territory. But she didn't turn around and walk out of the clubhouse. Why? Because as soon as she had opened his door she had been hit with one life changing emotion. Anxious anticipation. That was what she was currently feeling. She knew what was coming. And even if she feared it, she was more excited about it. Sure, she didn't know what to do. Didn't know exactly what to expect. And Jax had way more experience than she did. But he wanted her. She knew that for a fact. And to be wanted. Well, it felt damn good.

"Are you ready? You know, for…"

"Yeah. But I also know that this is going to change things and things are going to get way more screwy once I go down this road," she turned back around and asked, "I don't think this is going to be a one time thing."

"Do you want it to be?"

"Would it be easier? For him? If it was?"

She could tell it was true concern behind that question. Hell, it'd be easier for all parties involved if he had left her crying on the bathroom floor. But he couldn't let that happen-not that big heart of his. And if it took him a month to actually get around to laying this girl she knew that Becca was right. There was no way in hell he was going to settle for a one night stand. She could tell Becca would be the rational one in this relationship. Jax had a tendency to make emotional decisions when women were involved. Oh God, relationship. A rocky one at times it would be, she thought. This girl was too smart and too strong to put up with some of her son's bullshit. Good, he needed someone to call him on it-and she wasn't going to be around forever.

But the worry that this would be hard on her son was what got her. If he was committed to keeping her secret safe and she was committed to looking out for his best interests, well it spoke volumes of the connection and chemistry they shared after so little time together already. If she had been a normal mother with an average Joe lifestyle she would say this was moving way too fast. But that was the MC life, everything went fast. Fast and hard. So she was honest.

"Nothing worth having is ever easy baby girl. But once you go down this road, everything is going to change. And change fast. And there isn't any take backs. But I think you have it in you, to handle it."

A comfortable silence passed between them and then it was interrupted by the sound of commotion in the clubhouse. Becca glanced at a clock, it was late, it had been about an hour and a half since they had left. She probably had about five hundred missed calls from her mother. But there was only one person she really wanted to talk to. At the sound of footsteps, her heart beat quickened, matching the rhythm. Jax swung opened the door. A frown marring his features. His eyes landed on Becca before they softened.

"Hey baby," his mother said, approaching him with a swift kiss to the cheek, "Becca and I were just having a little heart to heart."

"Should I be worried ma?"

"No baby-I like this one," she joked as she left and walked down the hall.

With his eyes still on Becca he closed the door and leaned against it, head hitting the door. Immediately she stood up, hands tugging at his cut, "What's wrong?" He had been expecting to discuss it with her. But then his mom's presence had caught him off guard. They weren't there. Not yet. But for her part, she deserved to know. Deserved to know that Clay had an ulterior motif all along he had failed to divulge to members of the Club. It would hurt her. But she had been beyond honest with him. If he was going to do tonight, what he planned to do, he needed a clean slate.

"I need you to know my intentions."

"Intentions," she asked on a high note, failing at containing her laughter. This was starting to sound like those bad romance novels Sarah read and got all weepy eyed over, "Are they honorable or dishonorable?"

"Completely dishonorable," he told her with a smirk, yanking her body up against his, "but you need to know that I plan on getting to know you. Every bit of you. Very intimately angel darlin'."

He dipped his head into her neck, nipping at the skin there. She released a breathy moan, tugging at his hair and arching her back, tilting her head to the side to give him better access. He smiled against her flesh. Today had been a learning experience for him. He hadn't expected her to be so responsive, so into it. He could tell she wasn't fairly experienced. But she was an adequate kisser. She'd get better with time. And lots and lots of practice. And her passionate responses to his attention only drove him higher, his desire to please her was something he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Okay, as much as I'm enjoying this. I have a feeling you're trying to distract me with sex."

That stopped him. Only served to prove his point. She was too damn smart for him to try to keep things from her. But she wasn't his Old Lady-he wasn't sure what she was. He didn't have the compulsion to put a label on it. He was honest when he said he wanted to get to know her. So that didn't necessarily require full disclosure. But he would tell her this bit.

"I wanted to tell you thanks for your help with the Oswald situation. But you should know that we ended up blackmailing Elliot for it."

She stiffened. She bit her lip. And her eyebrows puckered together. She was far from happy. And suddenly he was wishing he had brought up this intentions conversation after sex. The grip on his cut tightened and blood rushed to her bottom lip.

"Did you decide this before you asked me? Before I talked to Tristan?"

"It was an executive decision Becca that I found out was made after I got there," he told her and watched her eyes flutter down to the VP patch on his right. He could see her brain working behind those beautiful eyes of hers. The grip on his cut relaxed and he released a breath of air he didn't even realize he had been holding.

"Okay. But I don't like being used. And I won't mention it to Clay. Like ever. I have a feeling closed door policy works the same way it does outside the MC."

"Closed door policy," came a question paired with a smirk.

"You know what I'm talking about," she accused as he walked her backwards. And she had been in this room long enough to realize the bed was behind her. "As in whatever is said behind closed doors stays behind closed doors."

"Damn I knew there was a reason I liked you besides your looks," he told her when she fell back on the bed, him coming over her.

She smiled up at him, hands shaking as they snaked around his neck, bringing his mouth down on top of hers. She had been kissed before but she hadn't enjoyed as much as she did Jax. She didn't want to sound cliché about it all. Like one of those girls who were always high about a man, complete with butterflies, widened eyes, and quickened pulses. But that's exactly how se felt when he looked at her, touched her, kissed her. Complete with that hot burning sensation at the pit of her stomach that meant she was aroused. She used her fingers to push his cut off his shoulders and he laughed against her mouth, sitting up momentarily to pull his shirt off.

He watched as her eyes got bigger, even a bit teary eyed. At the sight, he was going to pull back and tell her that they didn't have to do this but she surprised yet again by reaching up with her hands to touch him, tracing the skin over his abs and then sliding up to his chest, her fingertips flicking over his nipples. It was an innocent exploration he knew but it only served to drive his arousal higher. Her hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his arms, linking their fingers together. She bit her lip and sat up herself, pulling her own top off, leaving her in a red lace bra that popped against her creamy flesh. He felt himself gasp at the sight. Creamy swells popping against the lace, begging for his attention. He brought his own hands up to touch her but she slapped them away. Still shaking, she unhooked the front clasp closure. She tossed it over by his cut somewhere on the floor.

"Damn Becca…you're beautiful," he whispered, cupping her cheek and delivering a sweet, gentle kiss.

"You know…that I've never done this before," she told him, looking away and wiping a lone tear from her eye. Schooling his emotions, tampering down his rage, he turned her back around to face him. He nodded. And touched his forehead against hers.

"We don't have to do this."

"No. I want you to."

He wasn't a man that needed to be told twice. With a kiss, that like earlier today soon became heated, he leant her back down on the bed. Releasing her lips he traced open mouth kisses down her neck to her chest, finally latching onto one nipple. Her back arched, bringing her breast closer to his mouth, and she gasped. The sensation was new. She had always known her breasts to be sensitive but not this sensitive. When he moved to the other, the air prickled against the sharp wet tip of her nipple and she found her hand going to his head, tugging on the long golden locks there. The feeling of the warmth of his mouth had her all achy and damp between her legs. She had heard it described like that before. Needy, achy. And she had suspected that maybe it was a tad bit exaggerated, that nothing could spark such a necessity. But she knew now it was true because if he stopped, she would feel an overwhelming sense of loss.

He left her breast and placed slow, hot, wet kisses down her body. Finally coming to the short cut offs she was wearing. He smiled at the sight of them. He had to say, he loved these shorts. And he was quick to voice the opinion. She leant up on her elbows and smiled down at him, telling him she liked them too. He chuckled, called her a smart ass. But instead of the playful shove he had grown accustomed to and was thus expected she unbuttoned the shorts. But she stopped. When he looked up at her, he saw she was blushing. She groaned and dropped her head back down on the bed with an almost inaudible _Fuck._

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just that I, uh, I need to do laundry."

He frowned at her statement. Laundry? He saw her singular quirked eyebrow and his gaze flickered between her face and the undone button on her shorts twice before he erupted into laughter. She blushed harder but a smile twitched at her mouth and she threw her arm over her face in embarrassment. She launched into an explanation, told him she had planned to do it today but just got distracted with everything. He moved back up her body, placing a kiss on both corners of her mouth before placing a gentle kiss on her lips. Then traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue, asking for entrance. She complied, opening her mouth. There was a delighted moan signaling the return of her arousal, even if it had never really left. Her nails dug into the skin on his bicep and when he came up for air he rubbed his nose against hers.

"Should I continue?"

"Now who's the smart ass," she asked, reaching between them to shimmy out of her shorts. He tossed them somewhere by his cut, "You've got on way too many clothes for this to work."

He wasn't as shy about shucking his jeans. He watched again as her eyes widened, trailing down his body. Her hand reached out but then retracted. He shook his head, encouraged her to touch him. It was shy, the flick of her hand against the tip of his erection, but seductive all at the same time. A teasing taste of what she would be like once she became comfortable with his body. And he intended for her to get very comfortable. In a quick move he rolled the both of them over so that she was on top. She braced her body against his, hands resting on his chest. Solid grip on her hips, he guided her body over his, entering her slowly.

He chose this position for one reason. That day out by the streams, when she had told him what happened. He remembered her recounting about how she had been pinned down to the floor. How powerless she had felt. He wanted her first willing sexual experience to be the total opposite. He wanted her to feel as if she was in control. He was a dominant guy when it came to sex. He knew it, hell almost everyone knew it. But there would be plenty of time for that later. Right now, this was all about her.

She knew what he was doing. And she was grateful for it, grateful that he cared enough about it to consider it. She felt her eyes close, shocked at the pleasure, at the wave of all encompassment that rushed across her body from the inside and out. It was odd, being filled with another person. She moved experimentally and she felt him shudder underneath her. Her eyes popped open and looked down into his blue ones. She felt sentimental all of a sudden. She wasn't sure why, wasn't sure if she liked it, wasn't sure if it was a good thing. But she felt it nonetheless.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered.

"Yeah you do, your body knows what it wants angel darlin'. Just trust it."

And so she did. It took her a minute to find a good rhythm, a steady beat made up of his thrusts and her grinding against his pelvis. But once she found it. It felt…almost incandescent. By the time her head leaned back and her mouth opened with his name on her lips, there was fine sheet of sweat across her body and his too. They came almost violently, surprised by her own reactions to it all. She rolled off him and he brought his arm around her, pulled her close to him. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheek but she forced her eyes opened when she felt him harden again against her back. She moved to turn around to face him but with his head buried in her hair, next to her ear, he whispered for her not to worry about it. That she was tired and she should

sleep.

**A/N: So Becca tells Gemma the truth, her & Jax finally get it on. You know what to do- R & R!**


	11. Chapter 10

Agent June Stahl climbed out of the drivers seat with a file in one hand and a cup of small town coffee in the other, sunglasses adding to the sophisticated charm of her tailored pants suit and pumps. She was fashionably late, the task force already making themselves at home here at Charming PD. It was almost comical, how a small town like this harbored a motorcycle gang with ties to the fucking IRA. And somehow she was treated like the scum on the bottom of a shoe.

She was met at the door by a tall, clean cut, handsome man in uniform. She smirked. She had always loved a man in uniform. And he looked giddy, as if he was about to cream his pants that the Feds were in town to clean house. She could smell that naivety on him a mile away. Good. She could use a local to help her bring down the Sons-then maybe she wouldn't have to drive the next town over for a macchiato latte. It'd be nice. If progress could come to Mayberry.

"You must be Agent Stahl. Deputy Chief David Hale," the introduction coming with a professional handshake as well.

"Hello David. Nice to meet you. Why don't you show me the way to my new office?"

On the other side of town, daylight was peeking through Jax's blinds, rays of sunshine raining down on the hair of the woman who was currently curled against him, her beautiful mass of red hair covering her face. He looked down at her, smiled, rolled his head on his neck. She had been eager last night and had kept up with him, matched his hunger move for move. He had been surprised that during the three or five times he had woken her between last night and now that she had met his advances with a smile each time. Even though he knew she was tired and sore. Hell, if he'd done his job right hopefully she'd have a bit of difficulty walking today. At the thought he felt himself swell again. She groaned and turned on her back, throwing her arm over her eyes and slapping at his shoulder, "God, you're insatiable," she scolded him. And he laughed. Partly because she was right. But mainly because she looked smoking hot with her hair falling around her breast, the rosy tips of her nipples peeking through her locks, light streaming across her body, sheets outlining the curves of her frame. But most importantly, she was next to him. Warm. And happy.

"Well I had some nice encouragement last night. Somebody, besides me obviously, loves a good fuck," he joked, maneuvering her body so that she was straddling him, he reached up and twirled a strand of hair around his finger. She snorted in response but it quickly turned into a smirk.

"You're a class act Teller," she joked-half heartedly-leaning down to kiss him, a quick brush across the lips, teasing, tempting, before opening her mouth to his probing tongue, and quickly pulling back before things got out of hand, "And I would love to continue. But I'm exhausted. And sore. And I'm going to be late for work."

"Tease," he told her, sitting up on his elbows and kissing her lips before working his way down to her neck, "Skip it."

"Can't. Saving up enough for the studio above Floyd's."

That stopped him. From kissing her neck anyways. He took a step back from the situation, thinking with his other head as he buried his hand in her hair, holding her head to one side by the nape of her neck and cupping her cheek in the other. Just in the way they looked at each other, he knew then that shit had gotten serious. She hadn't told him about moving out. That was good, that meant they could have nights like last night outside the clubhouse. Even if she wasn't his old lady, there was just something about sex with Becca that he wanted far, far away from his brothers. Even though it was obvious that she wasn't free game, and after her showdown with that hang around in the parking lot he was pretty sure she had made it known that she wasn't free game, he wanted to make sure everyone knew she was off limits. Wanted to make sure no toes got stepped on and no noses got busted.

"You moving out?"

"Well duh. Why else would I want the studio above Floyd's," she told him, rolling her eyes for effect.

His face quickly shifted into something along the lines of _Oh really_? So in response he gave her ass a quick smack, relishing the feeling of her rocking against him at the sensation. Her eyes closed briefly and he watched her swallow. Hoping he could convince her to be late for work today. He doubted it. But he sure as hell would try. As if reading his thoughts her eyes sprung open and she frowned. His expression quickly shifted into innocent, "What? You were being a smart ass."

"Funny," she said blandly before scrambling off him, flopping down on the opposite side of the bed, and sitting up, pulling the sheet with her. He reached across and yanked it down. She yanked it back up. Slowly, teasingly, daring, he did it again. She sighed, loudly and dramatically, and let it be, "No more hiding?"

He nodded. He didn't know where this was headed. But in his soul he knew it was headed towards something serious. Specifics he didn't know but he could work with generalizations for now. Besides, he didn't want to crowd her. Becca needed space. She had already been raised in a cage. Space and self-identity was something she craved. She wasn't like his mother whose entire identity was wrapped up in the Club. She was something else entirely. She could make it in the Life. And she could make it on the outside. It was just a matter of wanting. And he hoped, damn he hoped, she wanted him. Then again that pat of himself that always screwed things up kept telling himself that things were moving way too fast for their own good. But he told that part of himself to fuck off. He deserved something good. He would keep telling himself that until he believed it.

"Well I have a feeling once I tell my parents that I'm not going back to school in the fall. And then they find out about this," she said, gesturing between herself and him, "well let's just say, I think the welcome mat is going to be a little bit worn out."

"You think they'll kick you out?"

"Oh I know they'll kick me out. They'll make me choose. And if I don't choose what they want, out the door I go."

She had been prepared for this. But it still hurt like hell. And she hoped that she was wrong. That her parents and her could build a loving, healthy, respectful relationship. Hell, she'd settle for even speaking to each other after today was over. Because today would be the day that everything changed. She knew what she was doing, she knew that she was solidifying her own independence, her unaccepted role and transition into a woman. A strong, capable woman. But her family would see it as something else entirely. It would be an abandonment of her father and mother and brothers, of everything they knew and had taught her, it would be a replacement of them for Jax. A deal with the devil. They would hate him and everything he was. She knew it. A part of her told her that she was being selfish and that maybe they would be right. That her stance of independence was just a blind illusion of the massing feelings of whatever it was she felt for Jax.

He watched her emotions play out across her face. Regret. Sadness. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. Desire. It was surreal. How she trusted enough not to mask her expressions. He was honored by the gestured. And that's what he told that self-destructive bit of himself. That things weren't going too fast. That he knew Becca all too well, even if it had only been a couple weeks past a month. He touched her hand, tangling his fingers with hers and offered her a genuine smile. She smiled back in return. And then she laughed. A pure unadulterated sound of joy. He loved hearing it. But then he asked the question he knew needed to be asked.

"Are you sure not going back to school is the right thing for you?"

"For me? Right now," she asked, eyebrows scrunching. She turned her head and looked at the wall. Thinking, deciding, making choices that could change her life forever. It was funny. How something so life altering could be decided in under a minute, "Right now. I think it is the best thing for me to do. I mean, I was awarded my Master's after last semester anyway. And as much as I would like to claim that I'm Wonder Woman and a bad ass. I can't do school right now. I may go back one day. But now's not the time."

"Okay angel darlin'," he shrugged and leaned over to kiss her temple, thrilled that she wasn't leaving. Not when they had started this…thing. They needed to talk again-and soon.

He was interrupted from taking that kiss on the temple further by a knock on the door. He heard his mother, telling him to send Becca out. She wanted to talk to her. At the sound of Gemma's voice, Becca scrambled out of bed and headed towards the small bathroom off to the side of the bed. Fuck, hadn't the two of them done enough talking last night? Then again Gemma had said she liked Becca. He wasn't sure how that miracle had came about. His mother didn't like too many people. Especially not outsiders. She was protective. And whatever they had talked about must've been some damn moving conversation because a couple of weeks ago she had not been Becca's biggest fan. He would ask her about it later.

He watched her come out of his bathroom, clean, tossing wet hair up haphazardly, and pulling on the shorts from last night. When she picked up her top, she dangled it from her fingertips, then held it up to examine it. She sighed. Must've busted the side seam when she ripped it from her own body last night. She heard Jax chuckle behind her and spun on her heel to see him with a cigarette in his mouth, lighting up. She rolled her eyes. And for the second time this morning, he was scolded when she told him that it was not funny.

"Relax," he said, getting out of bed fully naked, and strolling to the dresser, opening a drawer at the bottom and reaching way in the back before handing her a shirt with a scythe, the Reaper symbol, across it, "take this. It shrunk in the laundry but it'll still be pretty big for you."

Her eyes got big at the sight of the shirt he had in his hand. It was black. Simple. Cotton. But it was the gesture that had her blood pumping through her body maybe a bit too quickly. She felt a tad woozy. She looked at him, unspoken question in her eyes. If she put this top on and strode to work with it on it was going to make things a hell of a lot complicated. She was going to be one of those women everybody gossiped about because she hung with the Sons. He tilted his head but didn't answer. Not that she had expected him to. He knew exactly what he was doing by offering her this shirt, as if he didn't own any shirts that didn't have a SAMCRO symbol on it. Swallowing a lump in her throat the size of Texas, she mumbled her gratitude and took it, tugging it over her head and then tying the extra material into a knot at her waist.

"Looks good on you," he said, yanking her close for a brief, quick, but heat inducing kiss, "Get going. My mom hates tardiness."

She smiled and rolled her eyes, shaking her head when she bent over to pick up her bag. She didn't kiss him again. Didn't ask him any questions about what everything meant. Or what they were now. All she did was offer him a smile and closed the door. Damn. He was so fucking screwed. But he smiled anyway. Outside in the hallway, Gemma watched Becca close the door and walk towards her with her fingertips in the pockets of her shorts. The redhead was biting her lip and looked thoroughly flushed.

"Nice night baby girl," she purred, crossing her arms over her chest, and raising an eyebrow. But there was a sense of amused mischief in her eyes that had Becca smiling instead of blushing. Well, at least not furiously so, "That's what I thought. I suspect you and my son actually talked last night?"

"Yeah, we did," she told her, stiffening, remembering that she had promised Jax to keep what was said about Clay and the Oswald situation strictly between them. The tension didn't go unnoticed.

"You tell him I know about-."

"No, I didn't. We'll talk about that later. We still got things to sort out Gemma, I guess. He says he wants to get to know me. Not exactly sure what that means."

Well she did. He wanted her to stick around. He wanted to take whatever it was the two of them had and head it down a path that led to ink. That's what he meant. Jax never took the time to get to know a woman outside of fucking unless he had developed some time of deep emotional attachment. And she understood how he had done so. Bitch was amiable. And nice to look at, hell, very nice to look at. She could see the draw. And she saw in Becca's eyes a fierce determination not to let what had happened to her define who she was. When a woman bore that kind of determination she could take anything life had to offer her. Women like that were good for the club. They wouldn't run for the hills at the first sight of trouble. They would stick it out and make it through. And in the end they would be better for it, stronger for it. Hell, the world could do with more women like Becca.

And she could tell her son saw the same thing she had. So when he said he wanted to get to know her, what he really meant was that he was already halfway in love with her. She couldn't say the same for Becca. But she did know that this girl had helped them foil Hale to find Tristan's rapist and was literally getting ready to turn her back on her family to pursue "getting to know" Jax-if that wasn't some sort of declaration of affection she didn't know what was. And she recognized the gesture because she had done it herself. Both with John and Clay. She hadn't spoken to her parents in decades.

"Well I'd like to get to know you too. Tomorrow I'm having a barbecue at my place, around seven. Consider this a formal invitation."

"Do I need to bring something? Like a dessert or something."

Gemma's only response was to shrug her shoulders and leave her standing there in the middle of the damned clubhouse. Well, maybe that meant she'd just have to figure it out. The corner of her mouth turned upwards and she snorted, unladylike but considering where she was…At the sound of a door closing she tossed a look over her shoulder to see Jax coming out of his room, throwing his cut on. He smiled at the sight of her, walking towards her with that swagger she had grown to admire. He wrapped his arms around her waist and smirked down at her.

"I thought you were hurrying off to work?"

"Your mom invited me to a barbecue," she countered, smiling up at him, throwing her arms around his neck. She felt giddy. Like those girls she used to make fun of, who after having sex with a guy immediately became this happy, glowing being at the thought of the object of their affection-at least until the newbie sex wore off. But she had a feeling with Jax that he could make a girl feel that way each and every time, "Should I bring something?"

"Definitely," he told her, head nodding, voice getting huskier before his lips descended into a kiss. When he pulled back he looked both ways before walking her into a wall, his hands moving from her waist to her ass, slowly, and then leaned in to kiss her again, tugging at her lower lip until she relented and kissed him back. He was smiling against her mouth when he heard someone call out in a thick Scottish accent that this is why he had a dorm room. Becca pulled away first, leaning her head against his chest as she steadied her breathing. Then she turned her head to childishly stick her tongue out at Chibs. He rolled his eyes, muttering something about maturity and behaving like hormonal teenagers. That caused the couple to share a moment of laughter.

"I really have to get to work. And tell my parents I'm not going to school in the fall and that I'm moving out," she said, moving to make her way out of his embrace but he stopped her, pulled her back in front of him and cupped her face in his hands.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I know they're not going to take it well but I don't think you can ever really fully prepare yourself for parental disappointment. But if you're really worried about my relationship with my parents, I can just beg to be absolved and call Will-."

"Don't finish that sentence angel darlin'," he warned her, pinning her to the wall with his hips, instantly erect at the idea of proving he had something no one else could compete with and that she had better stay where she was-in his bed. So he could, you know, get to know her he thought-instantly sobering himself when he saw her quirk an eyebrow at his show of possessiveness.

"You're a complicated guy Teller," she told him with a brisk kiss to the cheek and a sprint out of his arms and the door.

He stood watching her, his gaze finally being pulled off her retreating form when he heard a long, low whistle. Eyes of his brothers darted between him and the door. And it was Chibs who spoke first, approaching his VP and slinging his arm around his shoulders with a sigh before dryly informing him that he was far, far gone. The comment got the desired effect of laughter from Bobby and Tig. Ignoring the good natured ribbing he told Half-Sack to pour him a cup of coffee. And as usual it was Tig who provoked a response with the statement, "Sounded like good pussy last night brother."

"What the fuck Tig," he seethed, sputtering coffee on the counter of the bar. He shouldn't have been surprised, not from Tig at least. But he was. But there was no way he was going to answer that question. He wasn't going to talk about Becca like she was some sweet butt or croweater or something.

"I'm just saying. I mean you can't honestly be surprised somebody said something, not with the way you two were going at it last night. Who would've thought ugly little Becca Williamson had grown into such a horny hot piece of ass," he joked, half expecting what happened next. Tig watched Jax get that look on his face, what was often referred to as fierce Jax. That narrowing of his eyes and that fierce look in his gaze that told whoever the fuck it was that had pissed him off that he was about to take care of business. But surprisingly he took a step back and a deep breath, quietly instructing his brother to never talk about Becca that way again. And as if nothing serious had just been said he smiled and clapped his brother on the back of his cut, "Chibs is right man, you are far, far gone. But be careful bitch looks like she's not one to take BS."

Jax smiled. Tig was always treading the line that kept people laughing or pissed off. It was just a matter of which road he decided to take everyday. Guy was a trademark sociopath. He supposed that was why he was so damned good at his job. Shit, being the Sergeant-At-Arms was no east task. He decided not to respond to both his brother's statements about his feelings for Becca. He knew where this was headed. Give him another month and he'd be well on his way in love with her. Give him four more months and he wouldn't be surprised if she was sporting some addition to her ink. Like his mother said he had a big heart, like his father. And a woman like Becca could tug at any man's.

"Not that I blame you brother," Bobby said entering the conversation, "but if you don't want commentary-I suggest you keep your canoodling behind closed doors."

On the other side of town Becca was having that same conversation. When she had walked into the diner sporting Jax's shirt and Mary saw it, well she deduced that maybe she needed another job. One where the boss wasn't so intimately invested in their employee's personal lives. The two of them had pretty much had a Mexican stand-off at the front counter until Mary had grabbed Becca by the hand and practically dragged her to the back. And she hadn't spoken. Nope, instead she had sat in the chair behind her desk like she was considering what she was about to say next. Her hands were linked together and she was frowning. Becca sighed, waiting for the woman to speak.

When she had been growing up Mary had been like a second mother and a friend. Offering life long advice about putting up with her inexistent social life and the life that was to come. She had often told Becca that she would one day meet a man who would cause her to rethink everything she had ever thought to be so. A man who she would one day make decisions out of concern for not just her but for his well being as well. And she knew that's exactly what she had been doing lately. And she also knew that the man Mary had been envisioning was not Jackson Teller. Frustrated at the hypocrisy of it all, she still waited for her to make the first move.

"You do realize what this means don't you? That if you take this further you're going to have to choose between-."

"I think we both know they've made this choice fairly easy," she interrupted. And it was true.

The reason why Mary had been like a second mother was because her first hadn't been much of a mother at tall. Constant pressure for her to be what she was expected, what they wanted, not giving a crap really about what she wanted or who she was as a person outside of their own environment and identity. She was sure that on some level her parents really did want was best for her and wanted for her to be happy. And being around Jax made her happy. For the first time in her life, she felt comfortable just being herself. No need to hold back who she was. She could explore herself for the first time in her life. And it was liberating. Liberating in a way she never wanted to have to give back. It was a feeling she always wanted to have and the fact that it came in the damned good packaging that was Jax Teller was an added bonus.

"Why are you doing this? You haven't been back that long-you can't possibly love him. Are you willing to risk all this for a man you don't even love?"

"This isn't about love Mary. This is about me, making decisions for myself. About being happy. And right now he makes me happy. And I'm not going to throw it away just because you don't or somebody else doesn't approve," she said, feeling her temper rise as she stood up and paced the small office space. It took her a moment to calm, taking soothing deep breaths, "Look Mary. I love you, I do. But this isn't about you. I'm not choosing anybody over anyone. I trust him. I trust him to be honest with me. To treat me like an adult instead of a child. To respect my decisions-even the ones he thinks are bad. He's loyal and he's smart and strong and good and he's got this way about him that commands respect for him as a person, not as a Son, but just as a man. And when he smiles at me I can't help but think that it's what I've been waiting for my whole life to feel. So that's what I'm choosing. And if you don't like it, don't watch."

When she turned around from the window to look at Mary, she saw the older woman's teary eyed gaze, hand hovering over her mouth in disbelief-like she had just seen a ghost. Becca swallowed. She hadn't meant to say all that but her temper had ran away with her, causing herself to spout things she wasn't sure of herself until she said it. Pushing hair out of her face, she plopped down in the seat across from the desk, only to have Mary still staring at her. Exasperated, she asked her what the problem was.

"I was wrong. You're in love with him."

Mary hadn't expected her to spew everything she felt for the Son. In fact she hadn't expected Becca to feel anything more than the curious fascination that most young women had for an attractive man with a back story and a bit of trouble in his life. But when she spoke of all the qualities that endured her to him, she knew then that her other daughter had gone and done something so stupid as to fall in love with the handsome outlaw biker. And knowing Becca as she did, she wasn't going to let go of that. And she wished she had known that before calling Ellen earlier, after getting off the phone with Becca, and saying the fiery tempered waitress was going to be at work in half an hour if she wanted to come by and have a talk with her adult daughter in her small office. Speaking of the devil, the door flew open.

Ellen was standing there in a pair of cropped pants, loafers, and a floral printed top. She looked like she hadn't slept last night, worried, and panicked. And when she laid eyes on Becca, Mary knew she was about to lay into Becca. She looked over her daughter, as if to visually make sure she was okay. Her eyes widening at the sight of the reaper t-shirt she was wearing. Everyone knew what that meant. Reaper. Reaper crew. SAMCRO. It didn't take long for her to figure out where her daughter had been all night. At seeing the face her mother wore, Becca leaned down, her forehead in her palm with a heavy sigh.

"What is going on may I ask," the question came out as a harsh yell. But even in her temper, Ellen didn't forget to close and lock the door. Even in her worry and anger she didn't want the news getting out to the diner's patrons. Mary stood, attempting to placate the furious preacher's wife with level headed statement like "let's calm down before we say anything we regret", statements that got her nowhere.

"Is that where you were last night? With him? Jesus, what has gotten into you Becca? This isn't you! I'm not going to let you do this!"

"Let me? Are you fucking serious? What exactly aren't you going to let me do?"

Mary watched the situation slowly deteriorate. And she saw then what Becca meant, about Jax being the only one to treat her like an adult. She could see also where she had failed at the task of remembering that she was a grown woman and not that skinny sad thing of a sixteen-year-old girl. And she was capable of making decisions. Had they really drove her to this?

"Do you hate us so much, hate us so that you're determined to embarrass us by acting like a biker slut," Ellen asked in a spiteful tone. And there it was, something that was out and couldn't be taken back. But by the look on her friend's face, Mary wasn't so sure if the woman had any intention of ever taking it back. She was convinced that she really meant it. But she had taken it too far. She was far from a biker slut. She was just a woman who loved a man of questionable means-she certainly wasn't the first and she certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Ellen-that's enough! Becca's your daughter-."

"No she's not. This isn't who I raised," she spat out, quickly she turned back to address the younger woman in the room, "If you choose this. You cannot stay under my roof and behave like this. Associating with criminals, not coming in at night, spreading your legs-."

"That's fine by me. I've already talked to Floyd about the studio above his shop."

She had told Jax that she had prepared herself for the worst. But she hadn't expected it to be this bad. Being called a common whore was something she hadn't seen coming. And the insult hurt like hell. As much as she knew it to be false, it still bothered her that it was the way her mother felt adequately described her. She was going to have to cry later. When she was alone.

XXXXXXXREAPERXXXXXXX

She was so happy she was about to pee her pants. It hadn't taken long for the news to spread. Pastor Williamson and his wife had kicked Becca out of the house after finding out about her whole love affair with pretty boy Jax Teller. And she hadn't stopped smiling since she heard it. She wasn't sure what it was about Becca that irked her but whatever it was, it compelled the nastiest of her being to the surface that could bring a chill factor down anyone's spine. Her mother had called her downright mean. Her husband on more than one occasion had told her she was teetering on the brink of insanity. She smiled at the remembered fight. Just then the phone rang.

"Hello Davidson residence," she hummed, spring like voice sounding inviting.

"Yes this is Jacob Marin may I speak to Eric Davidson please?"

"He's not home right now. I'm his wife Kelly, may I take a message?"

"Um…sure. I was calling because I heard about the history teacher position at Charming High School."

She rolled her eyes as he spouted off his number. More work stuff. Her husband sat on City Council as the Education Director. People were constantly calling about some new state law or council meeting or teacher issue. She swore he spent more time at the city council office and Charming High School than he did home. It was one of the things that had her seeking attention elsewhere. One of the many things.

"I will tell him you called-."

"Before you go I was wondering if you knew Rebecca Williamson?"

"Yes," she said, suddenly interested, toes curling at the thrill running through her body as he explained. He was her professor back in San Diego. He saw that she hadn't registered for classes for the fall semester. He wanted her number so he could talk and catch up with her. And she smiled. Now that she knew what was keeping Becca in Charming she wanted to know what the hell had driven her to leave San Diego in the first place.


	12. Chapter 11

"I think we should christen your new place," Jax joked, wrapping his arms around Becca's waist, distracting her from the glass of lemonade she was currently pouring for the both of them.

"Why am I not surprised," she joked, turning in his arms to deliver a swift peck to the lips. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, "I think we both need a shower-."

"Sounds like an excellent idea to me," he said smiling against her lips, lifting her in his arms so she could wrap her legs around him, and then turning so he could navigate his way to the small bathroom down the hall.

When he had shown up this morning at Floyd's waiting to help her move her stuff in, along with Opie, she had merely rolled her eyes. She didn't have much. A bed. A couch. A small kitchenette set. Her television. Her clothes had been the bulk of the problem. Opie had merely rolled his eyes at the sight of her trunk and muttered under his breath, "Women." She had reciprocated by instructing them where everything with and supplying the outlaw bikers with lemonade. Gobs and gobs of lemonade. She had suggested she go out for a beer run but they declined, citing that the lemonade was fine. But some time ago after Jax had plopped down next to Becca on the couch her mother had begrudgingly let her have and thrown a sweaty arm around her, Opie had abandoned the couple to some alone time-telling them he would see them later on at Gemma and Clay's.

He had smiled at the sight of them, laughing, joking, and Becca being a slave driver when it came to arranging the tiny studio above Floyd's. It was small but it would suffice. After all, it was just her. Even though he had a feeling Jax would be making the apartment his home away from home. The two were good for each other. The chemistry just flowed out of them; it was as if they had known each other for forever-anticipating movements, thoughts, words, and actions. Honestly it had been a little bit freaky. If he were to be honest with himself, he would say that he hadn't actually believed Tig and Bobby and Chibs when they had told him that his brother was far from gone and knee deep in "all that love shit"-courtesy of Tig-but seeing those two together it was obvious that it was headed towards something serious and heavy. He wondered if the two of them had that conversation yet. The conversation that would determine if they made it or if they fell apart. Knowing Jax the way he did, he realized it could go one or two ways. He would either repeat the same mistake he had made with Tara or he would learn from it. He had hoped it was the latter. Becca was no Tara, full of quiet subtleties and then random explosions when the Life weighed down on her shoulders. He could tell she was far from volatile. Pulling his bike into his own driveway he went to confront the problems at his home, wishing for that easy chemistry that had once been between him and Donna.

Back in her apartment Becca herself was thinking about easy chemistry. She had presently convinced herself that chemistry didn't come easy and not without a price. Things were going way too good right now. It wasn't that things had to be going tragic but life wasn't life without being handed a wrench when you needed a screwdriver or coming across a pothole or some other shit that could really put you in a foul temper for a day. She was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it could be small or large, didn't matter. She just knew that there was some storm brewing over the horizon. Then again maybe she was feeling that way because of the twinge of guilt that had taken hold of her. She would be lying if she said she didn't feel guilty about not attending church today and staying in and having mind blowing toe curling sex with Jax. Damn, now she knew what people meant when they went all poetic about sex. She took a deep breath and tossed her damp hair into a messy updo. The updo turned out to be haphazard as she was interrupted by the vibration of her cell. Plucking it off the sink she flipped it open before reading the caller ID.

"Heard Jax and Opie helped you move in today," Gemma said on the other line.

Becca rolled her eyes. How did she find out stuff like that? She knew everything. Turning to face Jax, who was still lying naked in her bed she mouthed to him that it was his mother. He rolled his eyes and smiled. She mouthed back that it wasn't funny. He simply shrugged.

"What are you bringing to the barbecue?"

"Lemon meringue pie," she answered on reflex, moving towards her bed and sitting down next to Jax who immediately thought it was okay to begin touching her while she was on the phone with his mother. She swatted his hands away which only earned her his laughter and being pinned down underneath his body, "Hold on a second Gemma," she moved the phone away from her mouth so she could heatedly whisper for him to stop touching her, to have some class, she was on the phone with his mother.

"Ma," he barked into the phone once he had snatched it away from his girl, "she's bringing lemon meringue pie. We'll be there at four. Do not call back, we're busy."

He hung up and tossed the phone towards the floor leaning back down to give his girl one of those kisses that her writhing underneath him. He didn't get far as she shoved at his shoulder and pushed him off of her, scampering out of the bed, towards the clothes she had yet to unpack.

"Considering it's nearing half past three and you told your mom we'd be there at four, we don't have time for sex right now."

"We can be a little bit-."

"No we cannot be late and you know we can't. You know this is like some other kind of Gemma test. God how many of these do I have to pass? She already said she liked me-."

"Becca calm down. Besides it doesn't matter whether Gemma likes you or not. All that matters is whether I do or not," he told her, suddenly getting serious.

She sighed. She was stressed. All of this was new territory for her. And she just wasn't completely sure how to handle it all. Even though she had been reassured that she was handling it just fine. She decided the best course of action would be to take things as they came. Worry and planning would get her nowhere, as life was too unpredictable for that. Her current situation was a stellar example. Here she was twenty-four with a master's degree, currently waiting tables at a small diner in her hometown, pretty much disowned by her parents, dating an outlaw biker. Her life had turned out far from planned and she had not the time or inclination to worry about it.

"Okay point made. A lot has happened in the past seven weeks or so. I'm a little stressed."

"I could help you with that angel darlin'," he suggested. She threw a shoe at him and told him to get dressed.

XXXXXXXREAPERXXXXXXX

"They're late," Gemma said to Clay, moving the casserole dish of macaroni and cheese around the table again. He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. He knew his wife appreciated tardiness but if he knew Jax the way he did they were probably christening her new place. Floyd had mentioned it to him weeks ago that Becca had come around asking about the dusty old studio above his shop. It was good he thought for her to be out of her parents' house, especially if Jax and her relationship were going to go any further. Her father had been a thorn in his side for twenty years. But even he wasn't going to off a preacher. Especially not in his town. That was just bad business. Because of her father he had been skeptical in his step son's latest choice in pussy but he could now say he kind of liked the bitch. But for some reason any woman he at least got along with seemed to bring trouble on their heels. Well, women in general seemed to have a knack for it. And with things between him and Jax the way they were, him on his fucking heels about every damned decision he made he didn't need his VP distracted by pussy. He'd keep an eye out for Jax and have Tig keep an eye out on Becca.

"Steady bothering the macaroni isn't going to make them show up any faster sweetheart," he joked.

Gemma rolled her eyes at the sarcasm but she laughed anyway. He had a point. She had to admit though she had an ulterior motif for inviting Becca to this family barbecue. She wanted to see how she interacted with the boys, with their Old Ladies, with the kids. It was different being one on one with everyone but then being suddenly being confronted by them all at once-she wanted to know if Becca would take in stride or have a meltdown. Secretly, way, way deep down, she was rooting for Becca. The girl was tough. Jax needed tough. Her son could shell out a lot of bull shit. And she wasn't going to always be around to call him on it.

"Hey ma," came that husky voice she knew by heart.

She turned to her son for a hug and quick kiss to the cheek. She nodded to Becca, who wore a strappy sheer blue tank top, denim cutoffs, and a pair of cowboy boots. Her long and heavy hair was disheveled; she doubted she had time to brush it after falling out of bed with Jax hot on her heels.

"Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you. On account of you are thirty minutes late."

"Sorry about that Gemma," Becca said, setting her pie down on the table, a slight blush hitting her cheeks, "I tried to tell him that," she said rolling her eyes and tossing a heavy lock of hair off her neck. She reached up and pulled the hair tie off her wrist, tying her hair up into a ponytail. Her shirt rode up and Gemma caught a flash of black script against her pale and freckled skin. Her mouth quirked. She'd asked her about it later.

"We got distracted," Jax said, wrapping an arm around Becca's waist and smirking at her, "A couple of times." He was fond of the memory of Becca throwing a shoe at him and instructing him to get dressed. He had simply leaped up from the bed and chased her back towards the bathroom, ending up taking her on the floor. After they were done he had declared her new place christened. She had just turned her head into his chest and laughed. A heartwarming sound that he had quickly gotten used to.

Before Gemma could scold her son, his girl snorted and slapped him across the chest, "Hey show some respect for your mother," she told him with a straight face even though he was still smirking, turning back towards Gemma she calmly asked where she was to put the pie. Gemma waited until Becca was out of earshot with the pie before telling her son they seemed to be pretty serious.

"I guess," he shrugged, reaching over the counter to grab a beer, popping the cap off against his mother's marble, "We're just taking everything as it comes."

"Taking everything as it comes? Are you dating? Is she your girlfriend?"

"Dating? You know I've never been really good at that type of thing."

"Jax," she scolded, "I'm worried-."

"You always worry. We haven't really talked about it, but yeah, I guess she is my girlfriend."

Labels. He hated labels. It was almost as if every single time you put a label on something it fell to shit but he wasn't naïve to think that just because you didn't put a label on something it didn't make it real. He knew what Becca was starting to mean and become to him. Even if he didn't call her his girlfriend. He knew that's exactly what she was. And she knew it too. The great thing about Becca was that she was consistently on his ass with questions and demands. She'd bring it up when she felt like she had to. No need to push when everything was going smoothly. He turned the corner towards the backdoor and spotted Chibs chatting up his girl.

"You know that hang around you took down was still pissin' sitting down the next day," Chibs joked, throwing his cigarette butt a couple of inches away from Becca's boot clad feet.

"I don't like individuals with grabby hands. Besides you let one guy grab you, it gives the rest of them ideas."

"I'm sure Jackie-boy will be happy to set him straight."

"Well like I told Jax, I don't need him coming to my rescue all the damn time. What kind of woman would they make me?"

"Aye lass," he stepped closer to her, "a weak one," he told her, kissing her briefly on the cheek and walked away.

**A/N: This is a very short chapter as compared to the rest of them. It's kind of a filler chapter, just Becca seamlessly integrating into the world of the Sons. It's one of the first steps of her self-exploration (which will be explored in the sequel- wink, wink). The next chapter skips ahead in time a bit. I feel as if I have established a solid relationship for Becca and Jax and that it is time for the drama to begin to unfold. Drama like trouble with the ATF and Becca's past catching up with her.**


	13. Chapter 12

"Why are you so jumpy," Jax asked from behind her, throwing his arms around her waist and yanking her back towards his body.

Becca looked up at their reflection in her bathroom mirror. She knew she should tell him. But he'd been busy with club stuff that had him on edge, constantly thinking, and at odds with Clay. She didn't ask much about it. It had only been a few months since they had officially gotten together. But she knew one thing. Brains before bullets. And that sold her on the idea that he didn't need his head distracted by anything that was going on with her. He'd already helped her through enough as it was. Surely she could take care of a couple of creepy phone calls. At first it just started out as answering and no one being on the other line. Then gradually it had escalated into single words. Whore. Slut. Watching. Okay, so maybe keeping it from him wasn't the best idea. But she was extra careful. Hadn't noticed any strangers any town. Hadn't noticed anybody following her. And she doubted she was being targeted because of Jax. Like she kept telling herself, it had only been a few months. She was just his girlfriend-not his Old Lady. And if he ever asked her to be she wasn't sure how she would take the offer. This was her problem to deal with. And she would.

"I thought you were still in bed is all," she told him with a smile when he playfully bit her collarbone.

They had adjusted to this routine of him spending most nights here, at her place, in her bed. It was almost cute in a sense. They woke up in each other's arms, shared a bite to eat before leaving either for the garage or the diner. The best days were when she agreed to ride bitch on his bike. She had to admit with all the domesticity rolling around here she was starting to fall for the guy. It would be hard not to with those damn good looks, that charming smile and that fierce sense of loyalty he had. Loyalty to his club, to his family. It was almost awe inspiring.

"Are you going to go see Tristan today?"

"Yeah. She's a sweet girl. She wants me to teach her to dance."

She'd been going every weekend to see Tristan since her rape months ago. It was good for the both of them. Tristan had someone to talk to, someone to help her work out her thoughts with. And the teenager had given Becca a reason to dance again. It was often now that Jax saw her flitting around the apartment on her tippy toes. When he saw her bring her ballet shoes out of storage it caused a warm fuzzy feeling to surge through her chest. And the expression on her face when as she moved along to the music- she had a glow about her when she danced. The way her body moved, fluidly, instinctive, it was quite sexy to see her dance. It was almost like she became another person, this seductive, graceful, ethereal creature who possessed this definite allure about her. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen-watching her dance.

"I think that's a great idea. Have you decided what to do about that assistant job Elliot offered you?"

"I don't think I'm going to take it," she told him.

She turned out of his embrace and headed back to the bedroom for an outfit. He had to say that he was surprised. Her job at the diner had turned into nothing but a headache. Mary was constantly warning her, constantly watching her, giving them both the evil eye when he walked in. She had turned from her second mother and friend until this overprotective bitchy thing that had Becca coming home most days more than frustrated. So when Elliot had offered her the assistant position he felt for sure that she was going to run with it. But Becca had known Mary all her life and had worked with her almost as long. It would be hard for her to leave. Especially considering the maternal status the old bat held in her heart. She already had one mother walk out on her, she wasn't sure if she could do the same to another. He knew that it was eating her up inside, the guilt, the guilt that somehow hooking up with him she had turned her family against her and now abandoning them. That's how Becca saw quitting her waitressing gig. Abandonment.

"Okay, just think about it some more. I think it'll be good for you but whatever you decide," he told her from the bathroom, splashing some water from the sink in his face then grabbing at the small towel hanging on the edge, "You could always come work at TM-."

"That's okay," she laughed, holding her hand up to placate him, "I'll find my own job thank you very much."

_If I slapped some ink on you, this wouldn't be an issue_ he thought to himself. That thought had been creeping up quite often here lately. But then he kept reminding himself that it had only been about five months since that night at the gas station. That would be rushing into it a bit. And if he asked her now, he knew without a doubt she would shoot him down and say not now. That it was too soon. She was the most level headed of the two. He was smart but Becca was something more. It wasn't but three weeks ago when he came home bruised from their little Mayan exchange. A few days before she had asked him if that explosion right outside of Charming had been a SAMCRO thing. He had answered yes. And then she asked if it had been them or someone else. He told her Mayans. And that had been all she had wanted to know at the time.

So when he came home three weeks ago sporting a bullet proof vest and three bruises on his back she didn't cry, didn't panic. She simply put her hands on either side of his face and asked if it had anything to do with that warehouse explosion and the Mayans. His silence had confirmed it. But then she had surprised him by kissing him swiftly and reminding him that they were behind closed doors. A phrase that brought him back to the first night they were together and he had opened up to her about Clay's deceit concerning the clown that had raped Tristan. And he told her the truth. About retaliation. About the guns. About everything.

She had simply laid back on the bed as he talked, staring up at the ceiling, arms hanging limp at her sides. He just knew that right at the moment she was going to tell him to get the fuck out. He knew that there were two types of women who survived the club life and being tied to its patched members. Women who knew nothing. And women who knew everything. Becca could never be the woman who knew nothing. As she often reminded him since that night, ignorance was not bliss. It was a slow cancer eating away at you until you took your ignorance, acted upon it and died-both literally and figuratively. She had been clear that if he wanted her in this relationship whole heartedly, he couldn't keep important things from her. Such as the fact that the club was in the gun running business and that occasionally it came down to putting a bullet in somebody. She had taken it all extremely well. But then again she knew that they weren't a bunch of mechanics and Harley enthusiasts. She knew there was some type of criminal enterprise working behind the doors of the clubhouse. How else could you keep drugs and big corporations out of Charming? And the more he thought about that night the more he realized that this full disclosure policy had this relationship aiming for permanence. And that's why he couldn't get the idea of inking this woman with his crow out of his fucking head.

"Do you want me to give you a ride," he asked, watching her pull on a tank top and grab her bag off the floor.

"No baby," she told him, tossing her hair up into a ponytail as he approached him. Quickly she found herself in his arms, recipient of a long seductive kiss that had him guiding her back towards the bed. She smiled against his mouth when her knees hit the bed, "You know I want to but I've got to go."

"Alright. See you tonight," he asked wrapping his arms tighter around her waist. She rolled her eyes. She wasn't really a fan of club parties. But she needed to be there tonight. A few of the Tacoma boys were going to be in town. And he knew she needed to take down a croweater or two-just to make the message clear. Gemma had been on his ass about it, about Becca asserting her role in his life. He had a feeling she was holding back because of the lack of ink. She wasn't an idiot. She knew the women who sniffed around him knew she wasn't sporting any ink so that made her just like them-expendable.

"Yeah, see you tonight. Pick me up about nine alright?"

"Yes ma'am," he mocked, swatting her on her backside as she went around him towards the front door.

Once he heard the door close he reached for a t-shirt and pulled it over his head. Then went his holster and his cut. He gazed down at the rumpled bed and thought about tonight. He and Becca needed to talk about where this relationship was headed because playing house was getting to be damned confusing. His mother's words, not his. But it sure as hell didn't make it any less true. He chose to take the front stairs and walk through the barber shop instead of the back way. Coming down the steep staircase he spotted Piney in a seat waiting for his chance.

"Hey old man," he joked, approaching the First 9 with a smile.

"Hi yourself. Where's that lady of yours?"

"Oh she went out to go see Tristan Oswald."

Piney quirked his eyebrows. It had been a question throughout the club why Becca had been so accommodating when they had went after the teenager's rapist. And then when she had told Chibs she had slit Hale's tires, the Scotsman had been steadily surprised. And the joking about Becca's temperament had started. But Piney and Opie were the only one who had thought that maybe there was something deeper than Becca's bad ass temper. Of course he denied knowing anything. It wasn't his secret to tell and not to mention that Becca would take him down with a swift kick to his balls he just couldn't imagine betraying her confidence like that. Especially not with all the trust she had in him. He was still amazed by that blind faith in confidence she had displayed that day at the streams when she told him what happened. No one had ever had that much faith and confidence in him that he would and could do the right thing.

"It's good for her. Elliot says Becca's been helping her sort things out and with school getting ready to start back; it'll be good for her to have a clear head. And Tristan's been on Becca about teaching her how to dance. It's good for the both of them."

Piney took one long good look at Jackson and realized that the boy was far, far gone. Not that he could blame him. She was a beautiful girl. Smart, strong, capable. And she had already lost her family to pursue whatever the hell it was she had with Jax. People didn't do that just for a good fuck. Bobby often joked that JT's son was the James T. Kirk of the MC world. It wasn't a secret that the boy was a man whore. So whatever the two of them shared had to be strong. Had to be love. Because that boy hadn't paid attention to the scantily clad women hanging around the clubhouse begging for his dick since the night him and Becca had gone at it in the clubhouse-months ago. Something pretty damned strong had bonded the two of them. A bond that had happened quick and hard. It had probably slammed into the both of them unexpectedly and knowing Jax like he knew Jax, he knew the boy didn't have a clue how to handle it.

"What you doing playing house with that girl? At this point you might as well move in with her into that house you bought when you married that junkie."

The thought had crossed his mind. But Becca needed her independence, needed to learn how to truly be herself. And she couldn't do that if she moved into his house. She needed control. And he would give it to her. He was surprised he could figure that out about her. Most of the time, in a relationship he could never figure out what the hell a woman needed. But that was one of the best things about Becca. She wasn't complicated. She was simple. Easy to read. It was how he also knew that she was lying to him. She was jumpy for another reason besides him surprising her by being awake. Had been jumpy for the past couple of weeks. But she'd come around to telling him. Hopefully.

"No, timing's not right old man."

"You're worried about timing?"

"With Becca timing is everything. Move too soon-."

"And you lose her," he asked smiling, looking up at the younger man, wearing a slightly amused expression, "you like her that much? You know five months in the life of the MC. Especially with you keeping it in your pants. You're practically married."

Jax laughed and in his peripheral vision caught Floyd doing the same thing. Not too long ago he had asked how having Becca living above his shop was working out for the old barber. Floyd had simply told him what everybody told him. Becca was an amazing girl. That he'd known Becca since she was born. And he didn't want her hurt. Jax had simply nodded. He still couldn't figure out why she had picked him. Out of everything she could've done. He had no idea how things had worked out the way they had. But knowing his life like he knew it, it was only a matter of time before trouble took a shit on their doorstep.

"Have you two discussed the heats that coming."

The heat. Hale. The Feds. That blonde bitch that was currently a pain in their collective asses. It was only a matter of time before that shit hit the fan. He sighed. And that told Piney all he needed to know.

"Fix it before it gets broken," he cautioned his best friend's son. Jax just nodded.

XXXXXXXREAPERXXXXXXX

"You could've done this yourself," Kelly said to her husband.

If you could call him that. Their marriage had never been what one would have hoped for. She had become aware well on into this sham of a marriage that her educator deacon board husband had one reason and one reason only for marrying her. To keep up the illusion of his heterosexuality. Her only explanation as to why she agreed to this would've been the money that came with marrying him. Her mother had been an alcoholic high school dropout. And her father had beat feet when she was about six. But she had worked her ass off to go to college and finally have money and respect. And he had given her that. Not to mention her children-who she really did love. So they overlooked each other's indiscretions and kept their dirty laundry outside of Charming. Although the idea of sticking it to Becca and fucking that dirty biker she had shacked up with definitely had a certain appeal.

Hating Becca had become less of a hobby and more of a reflex. She had everything she ever wanted. But the bitch never appreciated it. Just claimed her family didn't understand her. At least she had a father who was actually around and a mother who didn't drink herself into an early grave. At least she had a family and a name that everyone loved and respected. And then she just threw it all away. And spat in everyone's faces. For what? For Jax Teller? The thought was almost incredulous. And then this guy shows up and says that Becca isn't returning for school in the fall and she just can't help but think what a waste. Finally little miss perfect is finally revealed to be what she is. A selfish ungrateful bitch.

However despite her hate for Becca she wasn't particularly excited about going to pay neighborly respects to one Professor Jacob Marin. Why the hell someone with two PhDs would leave San Diego for Charming to teach high school history was a mystery to her. Not to mention the fact the guy had shown up to Church last Sunday. And then he mentioned Becca again to her parents. Saying that he had been an old professor of hers. It hadn't taken long for the gossip to hit his ears. No sooner had had stepped outside of church than one of the members had moseyed on over and let drop the sad, sad news about his former student. She had been itching to get info on Becca from Mr. Marin. But there was something about this guy that gave even her the creeps. She just couldn't put her finger on it. And it was the creepiness that had her shying away from delivering this apple pie to his doorstep. But of course her husband insisted that they keep up appearances.

When the door opened she plastered on a smile. Jacob Marin was a clean cut man in his forties she would guess. He had that attractive distinguished professor look about it she guessed. But it was almost like he was too perfect. Too nice. And no one else seemed to think that it was weird that Becca's old professor had essentially followed her back to her hometown. There was a story there. And she would bet her ass it wasn't the story she had hoped it would be. Something juicy and scandalous-like an illicit student teacher affair.

"My wife and I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood," Mr. Davidson said, extending his hand and his elbow nudging his wife as he did so, "My wife Kelly makes a delicious apple pie."

"Thank you very much. Everyone's been here to welcome me so I feel very welcome indeed. And it's nice to finally meet you Mrs. Davidson. I believe it was you who I spoke to on the phone when I called to accept the job."

"Yes that was me. However I was quite surprised to hear you ask about Becca Williamson."

"Yes Rebecca was one of my most promising pupils. I was saddened to hear about the choices she's made-."

"I think we were all a bit saddened to hear about it. In case you didn't know Jacob. SAMCRO is just one of the things about Charming that-."

"Makes it Charming. Yes I have heard something like that. It just seems so out of character for Rebecca. I've been her teacher ever since her freshman undergraduate days. Well, if we run into each other I guess I will just have to be polite. Anyway I'm looking forward to the first day of school. I miss high school teaching. College can be so formal and stuffy. But high school. The molding young minds bit, one of the reasons I went into teaching," the man smiled charmingly. Kelly resisted snorting. Her husband on the other hand was eating this up. It was just too much. He was too polite. Too proper. Too perfect-much like Becca who had never to her knowledge answered to Rebecca. But she had a feeling that unlike Becca whose perfection was peeled away to reveal a penchant for outlaw bikers this guy's perfection would be shed to reveal something much more sinister.


	14. Chapter 13

"Hear your girl is helping my wife bake cupcakes for this damned fundraiser we been roped into assisting."

"That'd be so."

In fact last night, instead of climbing into bed with him, Becca had been in the kitchen with flour on her nose baking. He would admit that it was cute, seeing her all domestic and what not. Standing in the kitchen in a pair of boy shorts and that oversized SAMCRO t-shirt he had given her a while ago, tasting all the flavors for her cupcakes. Even if it was cute, he was still a little bit ticked that she thought better of baking than fucking. And it wasn't for his lack of trying. He must've roped her in his arms a dozen times, kissed up her neck half that and still she had swatted him away and said that she had to get the cupcakes baked or Gemma would have her ass. He knew she was right. However that didn't keep him from being restless, cold showers, or his right hand.

Clay watched the look pass across his step-son's face and guessed he had been in the same situation with his girl last night that he had been in with his wife. She had been so worked up about the damn fundraiser that by the time she had came to bed, she was too tired for a bit of TLC. He snorted. He spotted a scantily clad brunette switch her way across the TM parking lot, making eyes at Jax. He snorted simply because his VP didn't even notice. It was a shame. How wrapped up he was in that pussy he had. He couldn't deny the fact that his step-son was starting to get future oriented. And he couldn't help but think that Becca had something to do with that. Ever since she had popped up on the scene with her temper, balls fit for the MC lifestyle, and a stunning pair of legs his step-son had been second guessing everything he said and did. He had first noticed it the night they had killed the Oswald girl's rapist. He still remembered that conversation.

"_You played on this situation with Becca. When you realized we needed someone to get the information from Tristan. You used her."_

He was conflicted. And that was something Clarence Morrow didn't feel very often. But his wife liked this girl and that was saying something-she never liked any woman Jax kept around for an extended period of time-and he knew his brothers had taken a liking to her. Tig and Chibs were calling her baby girl. Hell, she and Bobby were even fucking sharing recipes. It was fucking ridiculous. But he would also be lying to himself if he said he didn't like her. Not that ever liking anybody kept him from doing what he deemed necessary. He wasn't a complicated man at all. He could like you, love you even, but if you stood in his way he made sure you didn't stay there.

"Don't forget your mother wants us at that fundraiser or she'll have her stilettos up both our asses," he said before turning to walk away towards the clubhouse.

Jax watched his step-father swagger towards the parking lot and sighed. He knew that hooded look. Had seen it ever since he was fifteen. It was just that until recently he had no idea what it meant. He knew from that night of killing the clown in the woods that he had made a mistake. Had let his emotions show when he told Clay in that fierce pissed off look that he had used Becca. And he had to admit if he hadn't known Becca like he did, he wouldn't have been bothered about asking her to get information to help the club. He loved his club. All he had ever wanted since he was five was a cut and a Harley. But now Becca, that determination, that beauty, that all encompassing goodness about her had him questioning the methods he had gone about to obtain it. He had to admit that finding his father's book hadn't helped the situation. He could see it all crumbling around him. That bitch agent June Stahl on their asses, the beef with the Mayans, living hand to mouth with the gun running, and the constant worry that someone he had cared about was going to get hurt. And now with Becca in his life, that was becoming an even greater worry. He wanted to be better. Wanted life to be better for her. Because, even if he hadn't admitted it to her yet, he loved her. He wanted things to be better so he could keep her. Simply due to the fact that he knew she was too damn good for him. Something he had become aware quite quickly once their relationship had developed into what it was. And what it had become was something so dear to him that he wouldn't give up, even if he was begged to by someone who loved Becca probably as much as he did if not more. He hadn't told her about her father showing up one afternoon at TM.

He had been bent over a Volvo when Tig nudged him with a smile and pointed towards the Reverend. The look on the other man's face was pure content and concentration-absolutely no emotion, not the rage he knew the other man had to be feeling if Becca's mother had been any indication. That woman had delivered a jaw numbing slap to his left cheek. And asked him if he was happy for ruining her daughter's life. He had simply told her that he hadn't ruined anything and that Becca was a grown woman and was capable of making her own decisions. If she didn't like it, he told her not to watch. But her father had been another story entirely. He had calmly walked towards him and said, "When your father died I told Becca to pray for you. I never thought it would bring her here. But I'm asking you, cut her loose. I know she's strong. Probably strong enough to make it in this life but we both know she's too good for it. So I'm begging you to cut her loose."

He had considered it momentarily but realized that if he agreed he would be doing what Becca's parents did. One of the things they did that she hated so much and that was making decisions for her. If he agreed he would be taking away her right to decide how she wanted to live her life and who she wanted to live it with. And he couldn't do that to her. That would break her. So he had simply told Reverend Williamson that he could not-and would not-do what he was asking. The elder man had simply smiled and whispered that it was worth a shot before turning on his heels. But then he had called out over his shoulder, "I hope she's still praying for you Jackson."

He didn't reply. But he knew she was. She did it when he was asleep or when she thought he was asleep. His breathing would even out and he would throw his arm over her and pull her close, sometimes after talking, sometimes after making love, other times after he had fucked her hard, and other times they didn't speak, they just laid together and drifted to sleep. It was mostly those times when he caught her whispering to God to keep him safe. Even if he were doing things "deemed shady" or downright dark and evil, she still prayed for him to come back home alive and healthy. She prayed for his mother, for his brothers, and now again she even prayed for Clay-claiming that out of anyone of the Sons, he would be the one she would peg for desperate need of redemption. Tig was dark and sick and twisted she would say but still and yet she could spot his soul underneath all the filth. He had jokingly asked her if she thought Clay didn't have one. She didn't answer. But she did tell him Clay was a dangerous man and that there was something about him that made her pray even harder for both him and SAMCRO. Then she laughed and asked if prayers on SAMCRO were wasted. Well, they couldn't hurt that was for sure.

And she prayed every night. Most Sunday mornings were spent in bed or out by the streams, she didn't venture into church much anymore. Not that it would have been a good idea. Her mother had disowned her, deemed her even unfit to walk through the doors of the Sanctuary without burning a hole with those frivolous glares of hers. Becca instead found solace in the chapel at St. Thomas. She ventured there every once in a while when she needed to be alone and away from the outside world. A place where she could talk to God without any interruption. And when she said interruption she really meant him.

They were good together that much was obvious but put the two of them together on a bad day and those tongues could go to war. It had been a day when she had spotted a crow eater pushing up on him. She dragged him into a corner and quickly informed him that she was never going to see a woman hanging all over him again or there would be serious repercussions. He told her there was always going to be some woman around who wanted a chance at his dick. And he had then seen the look of fierce Becca, the woman who took down two hundred pound hang arounds.

He remembered the first time he had went out on a run; his mother had explained to her the rules of road pussy. Becca told him that she got it, that it was the way of the MC but she wasn't the type of woman who was going to have infidelity thrown in her face and she also wasn't the type of woman who lived by the philosophy out of sight out of mind or what they don't know want hurt them. Instead she had settled on ground rules. She told him oral only. If he thought that she was going to put up with his need to just get his dick wet he was sorely mistaken. Just to keep his rep in tack he had agreed and indulged in oral stimulation but he had no intention of sleeping with anybody else. He just couldn't do it to her. And he had made that decision one night when they had been lying in bed. He had been tracing designs on her skin when she had whispered, "Why do you want me?" To say he had been confused was an understatement. But then she had asked him another question and he could hear the tears and sorrow in her voice. "You don't think I'm ruined do you?"

To hear her ask him that had just made him want to kill that prick. It was a feeling he had yet to completely bury. And he knew if he ever met the fucker that had hurt Becca he would put a bullet in him, no hesitation and no questions asked. He had told her the truth. That she was far from ruined, as close to perfect that he thought anybody could get, and he held her close against him while she sobbed, tears hitting hot against the skin of his shoulder. What he felt for Becca was indescribable, all consuming, and far from perfect. He was complicated and for some reason she was the only person who he willingly gave permission to unlock the door to his vulnerability.

He had realized it not too long ago. He had been watching some bad reality television on her couch, enjoying the homemade pizza she had made. Abruptly he told her that he doubted Clay, that for the first time in his life he was unsure of SAMCRO. She had grabbed his hand, turned him around to look into his face and urging him to continue. Giving him that same sense of security and comfort he had supplied to her that day months ago at the streams.

"_Ever since I was five years old, all I ever wanted was a Harley and a cut. And now, it seems like that was just a stupid childhood dream. I know what SAMCRO is but under Clary's leadership, I could see it falling apart. And everything just seems at crisis level right now. Between Mayans stealing our guns, the Feds on our asses, and Clay and Tig's trigger happy fingers…"_

"_Baby, if this was all you ever wanted then it isn't a stupid childhood dream. You love this club. I know you do. So you keep it from falling apart. But sometimes you have to weather the storm. And that's what you need to do for now. Fighting it isn't going to help. A ship can't have two captains. You always wait until you find land before you cause a mutiny and maroon a sailor."_

He smiled at the memory.

XXXXXXXREAPERXXXXXXX

"Tristan, would you please stop eating these cupcakes," Becca asked, snatching one of the chocolate delicacies from the thirteen-year-old. Although she wasn't completely serious as she had let the girl have two already.

"I'm sorry Becca but they're really good," she whined, licking off some chocolate.

The girl had come a long way in the past couple of months. She smiled more but she was still cautious, jumpy, eyes in the back of her head kind of thing. Elliot had said that she was worried about starting school back again. And Becca had simply told her the truth. You couldn't avoid people. Tristan hadn't hesitated to remind her about her own situation. She had simply pulled the adult card, "It might be hypocritical of me to tell you to get back in the game considering I'm not going back to school. But then again I'm not thirteen. And things are a bit more complicated." It was a cop out. She knew it, Tristan knew it. But it didn't make it any less true. If she had went back to school, she would have gave up on finally becoming the independent woman that she was-well that and what she had with Jax, which she was beginning to think that she wouldn't give up for anything in this world.

"I know. I made them."

"Smart ass," she heard Gemma say from behind her, "But she's right baby girl, they're good. I'm impressed."

"Yeah, well," Becca shrugged, I like to bake."

"So," Gemma started, turning to the teenager, "how you been?"

"Great. Becca's teaching me ballet. I signed up for dance class this year. It's really cool."

"You know ballet," Gemma asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Becca blushed and turned back to fiddling with the baked goods. Only Jax and Tristan really know about her affinity for dance. It wasn't as if she was doing pirouettes down Main Street. And the only time she really got to dance was with Tristan. It was a stress reliever and it didn't hurt that the girl was an amazing student with natural talent. Both Elliott and Karen had commended her, Karen even throwing out that she should look into teaching other girls as Charming could use something cultured and sophisticated like ballet. At the time she had laughed it off but now considering that Mary and she were on strained employer-employee terms, it was looking like a viable option.

"Of course Mrs. Morrow, Becca was a dance major in college. My mom-."

"Speaking of your mom," Becca interrupted after hearing Mrs. Oswald call for Tristan.

They exchanged goodbyes, Becca with a hug, a promise to come by in a few days and a reminder for the young girl to promise. Alone with the club matriarch, she pretended to notice that Gemma didn't have her arms crossed over her chest, watching her like a hawk. When she had done arranging the cupcakes, she fiddled with the Bake Sale sign before yawning and taking a look at their work. She had to hand it to the woman; no one could organize an event like Gemma Teller Morrow. Event planning, interior decorating-as the Morrow household was magazine worthy when it came to interior spaces-and dinner parties. Gemma was the Martha Stewart of the MC world. It was almost comical. Almost.

"So how are you baby girl?"

"Good. Everything's good."

"Yeah, you seem pretty relaxed in your role as Jax's girlfriend."

Becca snorted, "Is that what we are," she asked with a smile.

"Smart ass," the older woman said, rolling her eyes and placing a hand on her hip, "You know he's been over to your place almost every night. You could move into his house and stop living in that tiny studio above Floyd's."

"Um…firstly he's over at my place almost every night because I am not making love in the clubhouse. That one time was an exception simply because neither one of us had a place to get intimate in. Two, I don't know if I can live in a house he shared with his ex-wife. That just seems like bad karma. Three, I happen to like my studio. Besides, it's the first time that I'm living by myself. I've either stayed with my parents or had a roommate-."

"Yeah but it's not really by yourself if he lays his cut on your couch at night and eats you out of house and home for breakfast. His bike is there. He has a space in that ridiculous tiny closet. So you do have a roommate, in this case it's just in the form of someone you care about whose supplying good sex."

"Okay, I don't know if I feel comfortable enough talking about good sex with your son with you. That's just gross. And I see your point. But we don't need anything bigger. If we're falling over ourselves at my place it's not because I don't have enough space."

"I thought you didn't feel comfortable talking about sex with my son with me?"

Becca bit her lip and smiled, shrugged after a minute or so. She didn't have any girlfriends here in town. She had Gemma and a few of the other Old Ladies, like Luann-who was a riot with all of her porn jokes and terms of endearment that got thrown around, but talking to them about sex with Jax just seemed a little weird. So she relied on weekly phone calls to Amber. Needless to say her best friend hadn't taken too well to her quitting school. But she had forgiven her when she told her about the relationship she had started. She of course had left out the outlaw biker part. But her thoughts about her best friend and her best friend's pressure for permission to visit Charming were quickly jarred by her sensing of her man's approach. He was smiling, wearing a white t-shirt underneath his cut, drawing female attention as he strutted across the lawn to the SAMCRO booth. He kissed her, teasing.

"Hey angel darlin'. Spotted Tristan on my way in, she says the chocolate cupcakes are sinful."

"Of course they are, I made them, she joked," giving him a quick peck across the cheek.

"Damn, she's been saying that all day," his mother said but there was a spark of amusement in her eyes when he leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, "Did Bobby get here?"

"Yeah. Him and that damned wig," he said, smirking, reaching into his pocket to pull out a cigarette.

"Good. I'm going to go make sure Elvis doesn't leave the building. He always bitches about that damned wig."

Jax watched his mom leave and throw a look over her shoulders. He rolled his eyes. He knew when she was up to something. You would think that after all this time with the MC she would have learned to hide her tells. But for some reason when it came to him, she was an open book. Maybe that was what made her such a fierce mother.

"What's she up to?"

"Nothing. Except that she thinks I should move out of my apartment and into the house you had with Wendy."

He had been thinking about it himself actually. Becca deserved a house and not that crap studio. He could give that to her. If he did it then they were going to have to have that conversation soon. The conversation about what the fuck exactly it was they were doing. But the full disclosure thing, the honesty, he wouldn't be doing all that if he didn't think it was leading to something more. House and home. Kids. That sort of shit. But he didn't want to freak her out. She was just beginning to feel independent and just getting used to being treated like an adult. He didn't want to drop too many adult situations on her at once. But then again being involved with the Vice President of a one percent club was about as adult as it could get. And honestly they were a lot more than involved.

"Well, it would be more space."

She froze. Aw shit, he knew it, knew that maybe it was too soon to be thinking about shit like this. But months was years in the MC world. They had already been through the warehouse blow-up, town backlash, he had come home sporting bullet wounds, and he knew that Stahl had approached her a few times. It couldn't get any more real. Not to mention that she was privy to knowledge about a SAMCRO killing, had been instrumental in the hit getting carried out. So no it wasn't too soon. Besides he already had her ink drawn up in his head.

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Becca-I already live with you. The only thing I'm not doing right now is contributing and quite frankly that's not the man I am. If you're going to be with me, I want to take care of you."

"I don't want to be taken care of."

"Fair enough," he winced, running his hands up and down her bare arms, "Fine could you at least give me the illusion that I'm taking care of you. Besides like I said, it's more space if we move into the house. And you and I both know that this is headed towards something-."

It was already something more, something serious. What was the word he was looking for? Forever?

"I know you've been thinking about inking me. You trace the skin on my arm with the design when you think I'm sleeping. So I think the word that's on the tip of your tongue is permanent," she told him, scrunching up her nose and throwing her arms around his neck. He yanked her towards him, smiling at her as he leaned down to brush his lips across hers.

"Okay, so you want to make this thing more permanent," he asked her.

She turned her head to the side, smiling, feigning contemplation. But then something caught her eye and she watched the joy and glow seep out of her face. She stiffened in his arms. And the stillness shifted into slight shaking. Instantly his grip on her tightened and he brushed a lock of hair off her face, "Angel darlin', what is it?" She didn't answer just kept staring at something and so he followed her gaze and spotted a handsome man at the CHS booth.

"Who is that?"


	15. Chapter 14

"I don't know," she lied smoothly, turning towards him, drawing him closer in his embrace before kissing him once more, "Baby, don't get me wrong, I'm down with the word permanent. However, like I told your mother, moving into the house you shared with Wendy-."

"We can move into a new place if you like," he interrupted, ignoring the fact that she was lying to him. If he hadn't known her truth face as well as he did he probably wouldn't have caught it but there was something underneath the expression she was giving him. Uneasiness, protectiveness, fear-call it what you will but something had her lying to him and he knew it had something to do with whoever that guy was at the CHS booth. In regards to living in the house he had shared with Wendy, he had been ready for her to turn that one down. Becca was all about starting over in new spaces and now that he truly thought about it he didn't want to bring the light he had found with Becca into the place that had been tainted by that junkie.

"Do you know if anything is on the market? Oh I know, I could ask Elliot. He seems to be on the up and up surrounding Charming property values," she smiled, stepping out of his embrace and swiping one of her cupcakes.

"Angel darlin', you do know that this is a bake sale. Those cupcakes aren't for free, at least put a dollar in the jar," he told her before looking up and stiffening himself.

She followed his gaze and saw a tall, handsome looking guy with a blonde who looked about her age. It was her turn to ask questions, "Who's that?"

Jax sighed. He knew he wasn't going to be able to let this go. His best friend has been sent up to Chino for five years because of that mother fucking prick. Needless to say, he wanted to beat the guy's face in but he wouldn't-at least not at his mother's fundraiser.

"He used to be SAMCRO."

"Not anymore," she asked, cocking her eyebrow. She wasn't sure how someone went about that. She assumed the only way you got out of SAMCRO was if you died and by the look her old man was sporting, the look she had affectionately coined fierce Jax, that guy was probably wishing he was dead. She felt a tingling sensation at the base of her mind. Jax was fierce when it came to protecting those he cared about, that was the top reason she had been keeping all of this to herself. No matter how much she prided herself on not being a victim; it would be foolish to say she wasn't afraid of Jacob Marin. She had trusted him, cared deeply about him, and then he had hurt her in the worse way she could imagine anyone ever doing so. The fact that he was here, taunting her, gave her pause to realize that where she was concerned he considered his rape of her far from over. And that frightened her. And because she was afraid of him, she was afraid for Jax. Afraid of what damage the truth would bring. She had no doubt that if the truth came out someone was going to wind up dead. Jax was bound to put two and two together. And it wouldn't take long. Hell, it wouldn't take long for anybody who knew the truth about her to figure it out. She wasn't sure if her fear for what would happen to her man was all that was driving her either, she had a nagging suspicion that her conscience was tugging at her heart strings.

No matter what her family thought she hadn't completely turned away from God. She had come to know that everything wasn't necessarily chalked up to fate and laid at God's feet. Sometimes shit happened because people were people and as a result, even if was ridiculously unfair, occasionally you had to lie in an unkempt bed. It sucked but it made her appreciate the good times. And today was a good time. In her time with Jax and in the MC she had learned a lot. She had learned what it meant to be an Old Lady. It meant she belonged to Jax and there would be retribution if someone overstepped their bounds. To some it would be an insulting idea, her belonging to a man. And she wasn't going to full herself that all the men belonged to their Old Ladies. She knew what happened on a run, stayed on a run. But she also knew that Jax loved her and he would never do anything intentionally to hurt her or drive her away. She suspected that it had something to do with the failed relationship that was Tara Knowles.

It was Gemma who had explained that one. Tara had loved Jax but she hadn't loved the club and so she had tried to change him but it hadn't worked. Simply because the only life he knew how to live and succeed in was in that of the outlaw. And at the time it was all he wanted and he was willing to accept Clay's rule without question. A person couldn't make a change-a change as big as walking out on everything you knew unless it was a personal decision. No one could force it on them. And Tara hadn't learned that. She thought her love for Jax and his love for her would be enough. But Gemma had explained that love does not make a relationship. And she gave her one piece of valuable advice, "You love the man, you learn to love the club." It was a sound piece of advice because she knew that Jax was not leaving the MC. When she looked back up at him he was still staring at the guy across the lot, "I'll be right back," he told her but she grabbed his cut and looked up at him with those wide eyes. Those eyes that said _Calm down and be careful_. The words that passed between them elicited her that trademark smirk he always got when he was trying to pull her into bed-not that he had to try so very hard, "Sale some cupcakes."

She was so busy watching him and Opie watch the ex-SAMCRO member that she hadn't spotted the familiar thorn in her side approaching the booth with intentions to buy more than baked goods. It wasn't until someone cleared their throat that she turned around, cupcake still in hand before rolling her eyes and sighing, "What is it Kelly?"

"Just wanted to try out these chocolate cupcakes that I hear are so sinful," she smiled, dropping a dollar in the jar and picking up a particularly plump cupcake and licking the butter cream frosting off of the top before taking a bite, "And I was wondering why you haven't spoken to Mr. Marin. I know he was your professor at San Diego. Seems odd that he's here and you haven't spoken a word to him."

Her spidey senses kicked into overdrive. What was this bitch up to? She didn't even know he was here, didn't know he was employed with CHS obviously but now the phone calls and those tingles that went up her spine, those tingles that she had ignored, those tingles that had told her she was being watched, those tingles made all the more sense. She wasn't sure why the woman hated her, hadn't ever done anything to be the cause of such hard hitting emotions. It was almost as if they were natural born enemies, which of course was simply silly. Becca liked to think of herself as an amiable character. She didn't try to give people reason to dislike her. Not that she was perfect, she was sure that there was something about her that had rubbed somebody the wrong way but to be on the receiving end of all out hatred…Really she hadn't expected Kelly to be carrying that same torch when she found herself back in her hometown. It even seemed that it burned even brighter now than it did all those years ago. This wasn't high school anymore. Why hadn't the woman grew up and grown out of it?

"Why Professor Marin is here, isn't really any of my business."

"Well, well, well-it seems like someone parted on a bad note. Is he here to make amends?"

Shaking. She was shaking now. For a quick second she visualized launching herself across the table and tackling her, sending the woman to the ground and straight up ripping her tits off. But the fantasy vanished and all she saw was that smug smile. From a distance the conversation would seem polite but in all honesty it was wrought with tension and malice.

"If you're fishing you might want to try some bait. I don't know why Professor Marin is here and quite honestly I have other things to worry about. And shouldn't you? I mean don't you have other things to think about besides me," she taunted and a crow eater down the table chuckled earning a spiteful glance from Kelly who snorted and said, "Why don't you go suck some cock?"

That was it. She couldn't take it anymore, not that her tolerance level had been high when she sauntered over here. How was it possible for her day to start off amazing and then take such a nose dive? And Kelly being a bitch to everyone in sight only served to piss her off more.

"Look I have no idea what the fuck your problem is but why don't you walk your bony ass back over to your booth and sell your pies before we have to throw down. Rest assured Kelly, it's been a long time coming and I've got a lot of baggage where you're concerned to power up a punch," she told her before crossing her arms over her chest and quirking one singular eyebrow. Kelly simply smiled and nodded before turning on her heels and walking away. The crow eater from down the table smiled in Becca's direction and the redhead just nodded.

She heard a low, long whistle and turned to see Chibs and Tig walking towards her. Instantly she smiled. The Scotsman and the psycho Sgt.-At-Arms and she had developed an interesting repertoire made up of a combination of friend/MC father figure. Before she could speak Tig asked what was with the showdown with the bitch with a stick up her ass, beginning the question with his endearment of baby girl.

"Simply starting shit," she sighed before throwing her arms around the both of them for hugs. Tig held on a little bit longer, hand starting to slowly trail past her waist, she stepped out of the embrace and frowned, "Tig-."

"I know we talked about it. But it was a reflex," he joked, earning him a good natured jab from his brother.

"Lass where's Jackie boy?"

"He and Ope spotted some guy, said it was an ex-SAMCRO member."

Instantly both their expressions hardened and she determined that whoever that guy was, he was a subject she would no longer be bringing up. He must've done something really bad to earn that expression. She could tell it was a sore subject, even for Jax.

Even though her man was seriously emotional he tried to follow the club mantra of Brains Before Bullets-tried. Both Tig and Chibs were shoot first, take names later kind of guys, which led her to make a distinction between the guys in the club. Those who seemed less emotional were in fact the ones who let their emotions take up front and center and as a result, they acted rashly. The guys who appeared to be a bit more hesitant because of their emotions were actually fairly even tempered and well balanced-it was those who seemed to occasionally think things through a little bit more-a little, not a lot. The dynamics kept it interesting and if this struggle Jax was feeling when it came to his club and its President was any clue, it also kept it dangerous.

"Should I ask Jax?"

"For the details lass but I will tell you this-his name's Kyle Hobart. And he was ex-communicated five years ago."

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Ex-communicated? That was bad, she was almost positive now that telling Jax to be careful had been the right thing to do because nothing good come from this situation. If he was ex-communicated what the hell was he doing back in Charming? She didn't have time to answer because when she opened her mouth she was interrupted by a falsely calm voice asking if she was the one who made the cupcakes.

Tig watched the vein in her forehead pulse and her stuff her hands into her pockets. He exchanged looks with his brother who instantly caught the tension. The guy was attractive, wearing a tag that said CHS. He was a teacher, apparently new in town as he couldn't remember ever seeing him around before. And he was smiling, looking up and down at Becca's figure, who inched closer to them and the guy instantly frowned. So when she didn't answer, Tig made it his business to do it for her.

"We were actually having a conversation."

"I didn't mean to interrupt. I bought a cupcake. Heard they were sinful practically. The blonde at the booth said that she made them, just wanted to know the recipe."

"They came out of a box," he spat.

Anybody else would've walked away from the two bikers who were obviously unhappy at being interrupted and even more obviously so keeping Becca out of sight and out of reach of whoever this guy was. But apparently this guy wasn't anybody else because he didn't relent, even to go as far as saying that there was no way it came out of a box and that he had never tasted something so good and that he had to have another, even the recipe so that he could have some of Becca's cupcakes anytime he liked. And for Tig he got the sudden suspicion that this guy had moved past cupcakes and was talking about something else entirely.

"Walk away," he said smoothly, opening his cut slightly to show off his holster. The man's eyes glanced at Tig's gun, to both of them, before smirking at Becca and then walking away but not before he threw the remainder of his cupcake down and smashed it underneath the heel of his shoe.

"Who the fuck was that prick lass?"

"He's um…some new teacher at CHS. He's been creepily eyeing me all day."

Lie. Despite the affection she had for the two of them, she could not bring herself to tell them the truth. Tig would follow him out the parking lot and shoot his dick off before putting a bullet in his head. And it wasn't smart to off a high school teacher with that ATF bitch around. That same bitch who had sat up shop in Floyd's a couple of weeks ago and waited for her to come through on her way out to work one morning.

"_You must be Rebecca Williamson," she said, eyeing the painted on jeans the redhead was wearing, "Do you know who I am?"_

_ Becca didn't answer. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hip out to the side. Jax warned her about this, that federal law enforcement had been sniffing around. She didn't know much but she knew enough. Knew enough about them running guns and dealing to a few less than stellar organizations. And she had been frightened when she had found out. Frightened for Gemma, Tig, Chibs, Bobby, dopey sweetheart Juice. Scared shitless for Jax. She had already resolved to herself that she could never ruin what they had and by result ruin what she had-freedom and independence. _

"_Special Agent June Stahl. Forgive me if I don't shake hands but I'm late for work."_

"_You're cute. I can see why Teller's interested. Stay out of trouble sweetheart."_

_She had watched the Fed in the pumps and the cheap suit stalk out of Floyd's, slipping her sunglasses on. Becca had promptly told Floyd not to tell Jax anything. That she would keep it to herself._

As she recalled the memory, she realized she was keeping a lot of crap to herself these days and as a result telling a few more lies than normal.


	16. Chapter 15

**I have no idea why this did not upload. Hopefully you all get it this time!**

Her nails released the Reaper tattooed on his backs and slid across his ribs, his chest, up his neck before delving into his hair. She moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his weight coming down on top of her and then…she stopped. Pushing at his chest, she pushed him off of her and sat up in bed, panting, sweating, clutching at her hair until it pulled tightly at her scalp.

"Angel darlin', what's wrong?"

He had been debating asking that very question for days now. And now he was too frustrated-sexually and otherwise-to avoid it much longer. He knew she was new to this whole thing but he also knew that she trusted him. And if she trusted him then she needed to tell him everything-the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The outlaw world was rippling with lies but lies within their relationship, lies that could spill over into his club he just could not tolerate. Rubbing his hand down his face, he watched her struggle with an answer to his question. Becca was an amazing woman. He would be a fool not to admit it. But the problem with amazing women was that they often times suffered from a case of superwoman syndrome. They took the weight of the world and their men upon their soldiers, worked out about fifty different scenarios-some plausible and others not so much-in their head, stewed over them, before they came to a conclusion. But by the time they had analyzed and taken action the men in their lives had already screwed up one thing or another. In order for this to work they had to bear the weight of the world together. Speculate on those fifty different scenarios together. And then take action together. That was the way full disclosure work. And Becca was too good for anything else. Fuck it, she had taught him he was too good for anything else.

He had asked her, not too long ago, her first night in her new place. He had rolled off of her sometime during the night, lit a cigarette and just watched her sleep. When her eyes opened he asked if she regretted it. If she regretted ever walking out on her family, on school, to stay there in Charming with him. He told her he wasn't a good guy. A high school dropout with a GED, a decent mechanic, and the only thing he was exceptionally good at was outlaw. She had laughed and said its funny how God made him so intelligent that the only thing he could apply it to was breaking the law. But then she had grabbed his hand and laid it over her heart. Kissed him. Whispered softly, "You're a damn good man Jackson Teller. Outlaw or not. How could I regret the best thing that has ever happened to me?" When he asked her what she meant by that she told him with a smile that they challenged each other. Challenged each other to be better, to be stronger. In order to live and survive they would both need to be better, to be stronger. _How can you regret someone that shows you how to love life? Every moment I have with you is precious_. Remembering that conversation he slyly reached up to run his fingers through her hair, slightly massaging her scalp, and calming her from whatever had tore her out of their moment.

"Do you know why I told you about the rape," she stuttered. His hand stilled for a minute amount of time before continuing their ministrations. When he started to give her an answer, she threw her hand up- indicating that it was a rhetorical question. His eyes narrowed when he saw the lone tear roll down her cheek. In a move to comfort her he let the backs of his fingers glide across her skin but she flinched and jumped out of bed, fidgeting with her hands before pacing back and forth along the bedside, clad only in her underwear, "I told you because you didn't know me before. You couldn't treat me any differently than you ever had. If I had told anybody else, it wouldn't have worked. They treated me like a child before, the last thing I needed was to be that little girl who everyone pitied. And then you happened. And I couldn't tell anyone else. And now I need to and it's too late because everyone's gotten to know me. I'm me. And if I tell anybody else they're going to come by with their "I'm sorry" 's as if they know what it felt like and the damage that it's caused or whatever shit they feel and I can't deal with that. I don't want anyone retaliating on my behalf-."

"Becca, what are you talking about," he asked, sitting up in bed slowly, tossing the covers off of his legs in a move to began his approach towards her. He had been waiting for this moment. He gave her time because he knew that she would eventually crack and tell him what the hell had been bothering her. Once again, he couldn't tolerate secrets and lies, it ran a relationship ragged. And there had to be truth between them if they weren't going to fall apart. First Tara promised she would stay, he promised her a complete lie that things with the Club weren't what they appeared to be. Second Wendy promised she would get and stay cleaned, he promised he would help her. Now he promised Becca he would take care of her, that he would love her. And she promised she believed him, that she trusted him. He hoped that both of them would hold up their ends of the agreement.

"Do you love me," he asked.

She didn't hesitate, not in speech or her eyes. "You know I do."

"Do you trust me?"

She didn't hesitate, not in speech or her eyes. "I have complete and utter faith in you Jax. And I trust you, I do. I just…worry." _Some would call that fucking stupid blind faith_, he thought to himself. He could read it in every fiber of her being that she loved him, that she trusted him, and that right now she was being honest. So he offered to reassure her. She worried. She shouldn't.

"Don't," he instructed her, "There's no reason to worry. I'm going to take care of you and I'm going to take care of me. I'm not going to let anything happens that jeopardizes this. We're just starting out angel darlin', you've got a lifetime to worry."

She knew he would say that. Even if it was completely ridiculous. She would always worry about him; worry if he would come home safe or would she get that call that said he was dead. She thought about Gemma, about how strong she was when her husband was hit by a fucking semi-truck, drug an unbelievable amount of yards, and to die two days later. She thought about him coming home with someone else's blood on him and that one day it would be his blood that would come sputtering up to the surface due to gunfire. She worried about that ATF bitch finding something on the Club and losing him to prison. But despite her worry she knew as well that worrying would never get her anywhere. It was best to enjoy the moments they shared together then worry about what could happen to him, to them as a couple. It was fruitless. And she wanted, needed to enjoy Jax while she had him. Because she knew that if she stuck it out for the long run, it was more than likely that a day would come where she might wake up to an empty bed.

Thinking about it she cried harder, steadily pacing, steadily pulling and tugging at her fingers. She didn't know how she let it get this far. She should've told him the truth from the moment she started getting those creepy phone calls. If she hadn't felt guilty before, after her conversation last night with Gemma the guilt had practically set her soul on fire. It had been after she had told April that she needed to be at St. Thomas. When she asked what happened, Gemma had simply answered, "The boys took care of business. That's what they do. That's what they trust us to do, let them take care of business." And when she had told her that, it had been like a gigantic slap in the face. She needed to step up and be the Old Lady, Jax trusted her to be. She needed to tell him the truth and let him take care of business. Because when he found out the truth and when the club found out she had lied…even if it was for a good reason. Not wanting to be treated differently would not buy back the trust she had earned. In fact it would be an insult to them. That she didn't trust them to love her just the same. Wanting to protect Jax wouldn't be an excuse at all because what exactly did he need protection from? He was smart. He would figure out a way to best handle the situation without blow back on the Club. It was how these guys survived. Lying to him, to them, to herself, would only make it worse. So she bit her tongue and stepped up.

"That guy, at the CHS booth today. I do know him," she whispered, turning away from him as she spoke. He frowned, letting what she said process through his head for a second time. Why would she lie about that? Instantly he was on guard because he knew what was coming next would ruin his night. From behind her he watched as she took another deep breath. He was tempted to encourage her for an answer but before he could even open his mouth she said, rather slowly, "He's Professor Jacob Marin from the University of California at San Diego."

He froze to his spot. She still wasn't facing him. Silence echoed throughout the bedroom of the small studio apartment. He knew she was waiting for him to say something. But he wasn't sure that a roar of anger would be conducive to the situation or helpful to Becca at all. Instead he kept his thoughts to himself. That motherfucking son of a bitch had the nerve to follow her back here? He was going to rip his fucking heart out. And then with a deep breath his anger focused on the only target present. He wanted to yell, to ask her why she didn't trust him to take care of her but he couldn't do that right now-right now when she was scared to face him, ashamed to show him her tears. Instantly he relaxed and rose from the bed. His intentions to make it clear that he loved her by enveloping her in his arms and letting her sob into his chest. Not that she cried for long, she quickly sobered up and raised her head to look into his eyes, "I'm sorry baby. I, I didn't know he was here. And I didn't know what to do. And I know I should've told you but I was afraid. And-."

"Hey, I know. And I love you. But Becca," he paused, his grip on her upper arms tightening just a bit, "don't you ever lie to me again."

She nodded and held on to him tighter than before, reaching up to cradle his face in her hand she whispered shyly, "What are you gonna' do?"

Looking down on her flushed face, teary eyed, and so beautiful it was damn near sinful he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, "Full disclosure," he mumbled in between pressing innocent chaste kisses on her lips, strands of the hair she loved so much falling onto her face and teasing the sensitive skin of her mouth.

She nodded, tears still threatening to spill over. She knew in her heart what was going to happen. But she still needed for the man holding her so lovingly in his arms to tell her the truth. She knew Jax was capable of murder-who wasn't? She knew he was predisposed to it. And there was a logical part of her that couldn't reconcile the man she loved with the capacity to commit something like that. But the Old Lady side of her knew that once Jacob had followed her back to Charming he deserved anything that came to him. And now that she was Jax Teller's Old Lady-he was asking to get dead.

"He's here for you Becca," he said frowning, "You already know what I'm going to do."

**For the amount of time it's been since my last update-this is extremely short. However, I will be wrapping this story up by the end of the summer.**


End file.
